


In Your Hands

by whosyourmaster



Series: Understanding Deviancy [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Desk Sex, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Political talk, Politics, Praise Kink, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking, Tension, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, honestly a little aggressive, its bringing out all kinds of kinks that I didn't know I had, so how dear it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-06-12 18:45:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15346206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whosyourmaster/pseuds/whosyourmaster
Summary: Markus is tense.Connor might have a way to help.





	1. Holding All the Cards

“How is everything? Have you and Sumo been eating what I put out?” Connor asked over his call, sitting in a deceptively stiff chair looking out the window. The early morning sun was just creeping over the peak of the room tops to brighten the manicured garden. Cool and fresh, the breeze rolled in through the cracked french doors. Connor shifted, trying to settle better into the cream white upholstery of the carver chair he occupied. “Jesus kid. I’m fucking 54. I can take care of myself.”  Hank’s gruff voice vibrated in his audio processor, slightly shaking his cranial components.

 

“Your health records from the last decade would say otherwise.” Connor snarked back. His eyes traced the lines of vine patterned wallpaper.  A brilliant teal backdrop with vibrant leaves, twisting vines, pink roses and detailed birds in flight. A restored detail that their tour guide earlier had made a point to emphasize. Such simple wallpaper that needed so much maintenance, seen by so few, became a clear symbol to all the history, money and therefore power, held by the owner. “Let’s call it a cheat day or something.” Came Hank’s grumbled response, Connor heard a loud boof from across the phone. 8:12 in Michigan, Sumo wanted to go on his walk. “For Eleven years?” “Fucking hell Connor, leave an old man to his pleasures.”

 

“I thought you got mad when I called you old” A set of sirens were going off in the distance, emergency vehicles driving by. “of course I get annoyed. It’s your fucking baby face calling me old!” His normal cursing was slightly muffled as the juggling he needed to do to get Sumo ready for a walk. His chastising at Connor was muddled, cell phone most likely shoved between his mouth and shoulder. “CyberLife androids are designed to work harmoniously with humans.,” Connor monotonously replied with a pre-programmed speech. My appearance was specifically designed--” “yes I know I know!” Connor simply smiled at the irate tone. “You’re a real smart ass you know that.”

 

“Learned it from the best, Hank.” He laughed loudly, bouncing off the walls of the vacant room. Just past the door to the living room were the muffled voices of his companions. “Yeah, well knock it off if you want to be welcomed back home.” He heard the lock on the door across the line and the rustle of grass as Sumo marked his territory. Deep in his belly, he felt an ache to be there. The desire to be in he comfortable sweaters and jeans, walking sumo around the neighborhood. Making stops to watch kids in the park or for Hank to run into the store for some errands. He was starting to miss the quiet comfort of the ranch home. “Love you too, Dad.” He said quietly trying to strike a sarcastic tone, barely loud enough for himself to hear. The silence was the only response for fifteen seconds. The silence wasn’t heavy but it still put Connor on edge. Did he say too much?

 

 “... Be safe, Son.” Came Hank’s response, in a voice that was soft and a little unsure. Connor felt the split of his lips as he smiled. “Of course Hank. Take good care of Sumo.” The door across from him clicked open. The voices becoming louder as they entered. “You know this is bullshit, Markus.” Came North’s irritated voice as she stormed in, the weight of multiple files barely containing her normal exaggerated movements. The sound felt like it was coming through the water as Connor had all his audio focused on his call. “That maybe North, but we have to play by their rules.” Came a tired reply as Markus followed her. He was standing tall but a worrying hunch in his neck had Connor on alert. He took a quick scan;

           

Stress 34%

 

Not ideal.

 

“I have to go Hank. Have a good day off.” he said, standing up, ready at attention “Yeah, yeah, have fun playing fucking politics, Son. We will see you on Saturday?” Josh closed the door after Simon, both looking frayed around the edges. “Yes, I hope so.” With that, the line clicked dead and he turned his full audio to the room. “You can not tell me that this behavior is okay.” North threw the files onto the coffee table between her and Connor. She was in a defensive stance, her braid swinging at the force of her angry gestures.

 

Connor kept quiet as he watched the four, the congregated in a semicircle like they normally did when discussing issues. Quietly Connor went to close the french doors, performing a scan to see if anyone was in visual of the doors. With a quick calculation, he positioned himself before the windows in the statistically best way to provide a barrier between Markus and any possible adversary. “First they make us come all the way here,” North ticked off on a finger. “Than they make our stay in this place that has inadequate accommodations for androids. They give you no protective detail even though they claim to value you as important. And now, they pushed back your meeting with the President again!” Now North was screaming, the volume of her voice bouncing off the wall, though no one flinched at the elevated decibels.

 

Markus, stalked over to the fireplace, picking up the porcelain Chinese figures one by one and examining them. His brow was pinched and rough as he ran gentle fingers over the delicate material, tracing the features of a young maiden. “What would you want us to do?” Josh said, also frustrated, he collapsed down into a chair, rubbing his eyes. “We can’t fight them on this North, we have to wait until they receive us.” He said, clearly upset with the whole situation as well. Simon took a much more graceful seat across from Josh. He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “She has a point though,” He said down into the carpet. “We were supposed to be done with all this yesterday and we still haven’t even been formally introduced yet.”

 

“I’m not sure how much longer we can be away from Jericho,” Josh admitted, leaning back into the chair, pulling his head against the back and stretching out his legs. Markus refused to look away from the porcelain figurine. Connor watched as he kept re-running his fingers over the delicate folds of the robes. “We still have to clean up that mess with the housing around the church. Lucy called to say that the Mayor is threatening to send DPD and charge our people with squatting.” Connor perked up at that, he had heard no such thing, Hank surely would have mentioned it in his calls if he knew.

 

“This is all a game to them.” North seethed “They are just trying to play with us at the risk of our people.” She was right, they all knew she was. All three sat in silence, peaking glances at Markus as he still refused to add an opinion. Connor shifted, ready to offer up something. Maybe he could head back to Jericho, call Hank, bide some time with the Mayor. Maybe he could head to the white house, speak with someone there. Try and figure out why they were stuck in this limbo. Maybe he could march out and make a public display of himself, get media attention to call out the hypocrisy. He was ready to offer up anything.

 

“Simon,” Markus said suddenly, his voice low and heavy. “Call the President's point of contact. Tell them we are leaving Saturday no matter what. Force their hand.” He ordered, placing the figurine down a little too hard, the sound of a small crack forming at the base making his eye twitch.

 

With a nod of his head, Simon’s eyes glazed over a little. “Yes, Hello Mr. Millers? This is Simon, Markus’ head of staff... Yes, good morning... I know it is early, however, I am calling to inform you that we will be heading back to Detroit this Saturday... Yes, we are needed back at Jericho for urgent matters... Yes but--- we have important--- I know that this is an incoveni--- yes it is an emergency... I’m sure the president is busy... with all due respect sir we have been here since Sunday, we will be here till Saturday that gives you 3 days so— I am not implying you don’t know the calendar... well sir we have our own people to care for. We will be leaving Saturday, do with the information as you will.”

 

“They do not even talk to us like people.” North bit out, she had migrated to the window next to Connor, glowering out at the greenery. Connor looked back out doing a secondary scan; all clear. “It’s because to them we aren't,” Markus said with a reserved fury that had everyone on alert. The furrow between his brows grew deeper. He was still refusing to look at anyone, opting instead to focus his attention on his reflection in the mirror. His hand had migrated to the edge of the fireplace, latched on the mantel. The finely painted wood gave a groan as he gripped it tighter. It would splinter any minute. Silently Connor took a step forward, placing his hand on Markus’ arm. Markus’ shoulders went up instantly to his ears, only relaxing when he noticed it was Connor touching him.

 

“Then we make them,”  Connor said with a determined tone, slowly uncurling Markus’ fingers one at a time. Lacing their hands together, he looked into Markus’ eyes refusing to look away. Heterochromatic eyes twitched side to side as he seemed to be searching for something in Connor’s. “How?” Josh asked, breaking the tense silence. Uncomfortable, his voice held a forced reservation. “Well forcing their hand is a good start,” Simon said “Still it’s all the power in their hands” North snapped glaring out the window, arms crossed and back turned to her companions. “And as president, that’s where it will always be,” Markus said never breaking eye contact with Connor. “We have given them their timetable. All we can do now is wait and see what happens.”

 

With a great groan of a middle-aged human, rather than an ageless android, “I will check in with Lucy let her know we will be back soon,” Josh said. Hand in his pocket, he exited the room with a laidback gate that was too exaggerated to be real. “I have some opinion articles to finish writing and send out,” North said in a terse tone, turning quickly to collect all the files. With a flip of her braid, she semi stormed out after patting Markus’ on the back in support. Simon sat there for a moment longer just analyzing Markus’ stance and posture. “You want me to help you with your discussion notes?” he asked coming to stand beside the pair. Letting go of Connor’s hand, Markus turned to lean his back against the mantle, knocking his head back to look at the ceiling. Connor looked to his side at Simon, seeing the shared concern in the blonde's eyes.

 

“No, could you prepare a couple of press statements. We will need both for if we meet and if we don’t.” Markus said through a great sigh, closing his eyes as his shoulders sagged. He looked as if he had aged 10 years within the last 10 minutes. “Something diplomatic and calm but highlighting the undertones of dehumanization we are being shown by this administration.” Simon nodded “Of course Markus, I’ll be in the dining room if you need me.” With that, he left, closing the door quietly behind him. Markus didn’t move, His eyelids weren’t even moving, a sign his eyes were completely still as well. Connor just stood there silent, he wasn’t going to leave till Markus was ready to move.

 

An obnoxious grandfather clock set a beat of ticking from its corner. It was relentlessly loud to all the deviants, North already threaten to take a hammer to it after only a single night in the Blair House. A destruction that would cost them large amounts of money if not some political points if their current treatment was anything to go by. Connor bent forward, cupping Markus’ face using his thumb massaging his temple. Makus turned his tired eyes to him, drooped low, but a small smile lifted at the corners of his mouth.

 

“I am going to run a perimeter,” Connor said all business in his voice, a subtle offering of space to Markus that he most likely needed. As much as he wanted to be of service, he knew his presence would not be a comfort when Markus’ needed space. Even as a leader he was still a greatly introverted and private man. Unfortunately, he could not bring his paints with him for a much-needed outlet. “Then I will post myself outside your study.”

 

North hadn’t misplaced her anger. Their first hours in DC had been well enough, being created by special security who delivered them to the Blair House. However, within the hour of arrival, the security team had left and a group of paparazzi and anti-droid protests had taken their place. The first two days, had Connor strictly forbidding the other four from entering the frontmost rooms of the house and running solo perimeters every 30 minutes. DCPD had finally shown up halfway through the first day of protests but it seemed clear they were more worried about property destruction rather than the residents inside. All of it left the group supremely uneasy and while things had calmed down, openly at least, Connor still ran a check every hour on the hour and limited the groups time in rooms with too many windows for him to monitor.

 

“You might as well just come in when you’re done,” Markus said, pushing up from the mantle, his head was hanging lower than it ever should. “No point having you wait outside alone.” A weak smile graced as he bent forward, pressing a kiss to Connor’s forehead. It was warm and soft, his breath tickling the little hairs that fell out of his coiffed hairstyle.

 

“Please be safe,” Markus whispered, clasping his hand onto Connor’s wrist, rubbing circles in return for the message. “Am I not always?” Connor replied hoping to illicit sarcasm. He received a snort for his troubles. A small win in his book. “I’ll walk you to the study, c’mon.” Connor waited for Markus’ to turn heading for the door. Taking his opportunity he drew his hand back, bringing it forward fast to slap Markus’ ass. The resounding slap was wholly satisfying along with the little jump and yelp his victim gave. Just as an extra measure he palmed the abused cheek squeezing it. Markus just turned and shoved him on the chest in retaliation, his attempts to look annoyed doing little to hide his smile.

 

Stress vv 19%

 

Starting in the Garden, the low lying hedges made it easy to identify nothing of concern. He still took his time to walk behind every pill shaped topiary that lined the walls of the courtyard garden. Green lush and beautiful it was a pity that they couldn’t enjoy the space. Markus would love to sit and sketch the light through the trees. Scanning the roof, he found only a 3% risk of something nefarious, though he would get a better opinion once he went up there. Headed back into the house, he tracked the halls. Keeping tabs on North, in the library writing and grumbling to herself, Josh, in the dining room, with Simon chatting quietly while tending to their own tasks.

 

The second floor was empty, though he took the time to check every window lock and scan any location that a person could hide away in. The roof was devoid of anything suspicious as well through the fact there was an entrance at all put his teeth on edge. It was clear by the supplied on the landing beside the door, that this was a point of high surveillance normally. North was right to be outraged, any low-level diplomat would have had at least two secret service men who knew the home inside and out. Locking and baring the entrance to the roof Connor headed for the alleyway.

 

The street outside their lodgings was quiet when he walked around the corner. Either too early in the morning or too many days into their visit to illicit the vehement protest they saw previously. The street was relatively barren, only those headed to work were out. Most didn’t bother to look up from their phones, shoulders tiredly sagged in the heat, cups of coffee gripped like their only lifeline. Everything was bright and new and gleaming in the morning sun. Scanning the area Connor found nothing had been moved or added to the landscape in the last hour. Still, he calculated the probability of a number of attack and preconstructed hundreds of crisis responses. Content he ended out into the Main Street and scanned the windows and doors, detecting no tampering from outside.

 

Crossing in front of the building, with its mismatched tri-styled facade, Connor noticed a series of posters hastily plastered against the trees. There was a multitude of posters designs; bold iconography of faceless androids, delineated by their red LEDs, with BAN ANDROIDS splashed across the background, a grotesque cartoon of a furious looking Markus ANTICHRIST spray-painted across his face, even some with CyberLife’s logo scratched out  MAN OVER MACHINE buffering the edges. Connor, took each one down as he passed, surprised the city let them stay up, tarnishing the peaceful all powerful colonial look that most tourists came to expect.

 

   Folding the posters, Connor tucked them into his jacket to pitch later. Deeming the risk level to only be 10% Connor headed back into the Blair house, setting his timer to run periphery again in an hour. The house was quiet, tense and silent, for the four other occupants. He walked as lightly as possible, making sure to avoid the bits of floor hat squealed underfoot, he headed for the study. The carved cherry wood door’s lock clicked as he opened it. Across the room at the antique desk, hunched over, Markus sat, a tense hand gripping the scalp at the top of his head. The fire red of the walls made everything feel pressured and ready to burst. The air around him crackled with his frustration and possibly a bicomponent overheating. Staying in the doorway Connor ran a quick scan;

           

Stress ^^^ 51%

 

With a quiet huff, closing the door, Connor crossed over the oriental rug. The wood was soft and worn under his fingertips as he brushed them along the darkly stained desk. Markus didn’t move a single digit, remaining a tight ball in his wingback chair. “You need to take a break.” Connor broke the silence with, his audio processor wobbled ever so slightly with static. “Your stress level is far too high.” Markus continued to just ignore everything. Connors' fingers twitched, wanting to head for the coin in his pocket.

Biting his lip Connor started to circle the desk.“I saw a chess board in the library.” He tried for a friendly upbeat tone. “Would you like to play a round of speed chess?” Markus was bent over a series of typed up notes, they were awash in red marks and annotations. Rewritten half to death in the free time that none of them expect or ask for. “Maybe a book.” Connor bent down ever so slightly, trying to come to Markus’ level. He set a hip on the desk, trying to fane easy casualness to invoke a sense of comfort. “A room that full of leather covers are bound to have something of interest to you.”

 

Stress ^ 56%

 

Nothing was moving Markus from his frozen state. Connor felt his own stress level rise. He scoured his negotiation programming trying to find a new technique. All of it felt sterile, too mechanical and separated, to really calm Markus’ nerves. Unsure of it he could even touch the man, Connor, folded his hands into his lap. “I could take you out to the gar--”

 

“I have to get this done.” Markus snapped, slamming his fists onto the desk. Connor jumped up at the sudden movement and stood at attention.

 

“I’m sorry. Sorry. I... I just...” he clenched his jaw and kept glaring at the pretty portrait of a semi-famous first-lady that graced the wall across from him. Connor looked down at his furrowed brow “stressed” Connor hazarded a guess. The air heated up, Markus’ deep breathes pumping out hot air away from his biocomponents. Slowly he placed a hand on Markus’ shoulder, rubbing small circles. “Overwhelmed... but none of those things feel like they will help.” Sitting back against the desk Connor leaned forward, placing his forehead beside his hand on Makus’ shoulder. His synthetic skin was hot, past the pointing sweating if they were capable of such functions. Markus tilted his head, laying his temple across Connor’s. They sat in silence, as they breathed together, the expansion of their chests making them sway slightly.

 

“I feel tense, like my muscles won’t relax.” Markus’ voice rumbled through his throat.  Raising his head Connor, pressed their foreheads together. He could count the subtle freckles across Markus’ cheeks. The shadows created by their position gave the man a deep set of bags that Connor knew could never truly be there. “When is the last time you recharged?” He asked quietly into the space between their mouths. “Last night but it didn’t help.” Connor cupped the jaw with his hands, thumb tingling as it gently caressed over his stubble. “You’re one to talk, though. I haven’t seen you recharge since we got here”  Connor simply smiled over the observation, Markus would forever follow his caregiver protocol. Even if it put him in trouble.

 

“I have the most advanced battery Cyberlife ever made. I can go 3 weeks without needing to recharge.” Connor simple pointed out, closing the slight distance to leave a kiss across the lid of each eye. “You calling me old, Connor?” Markus snarked leaning back into the chair. He had to roll his eyes at that accusation. “Hardly, though you are more than welcome to complain with Hank once we return home.” Markus rolled his chair back, batting Connor’s legs as a means to direct him. Once fully seated in the center of the desk, Markus resumed his place, now snuggly placed between Connor’s legs. His arms wrapped around Connor’s middle, pressing his face deep into his stomach. Connor placed his head atop Markus’, placing his hand against the back of his head, brushing his ear softly. The folds of his button up shook as Markus exhaled into his torso.

 

Connor scanned him one more time;

 

Stress vv 48%

 

Lowering but not nearly enough. Rechecking his programming, he frustratingly couldn’t find a method that he liked to handle the situation. In his frustration, he expelled his energy by placing a dozen or so kisses to the top of Markus buried head. A grumble moan was what he got in return, along with the sudden compression of his biocomponents as he was lightly headbutted.

 

He looked around the red-walled room looking for something to ease the tension. Nothing but fancy paintings, delicate china, and dated furniture were of no help. The house reeked of propriety and pomp, like a stale stench that clung only to antiques. The decor was rich, if not overly delicate, and ornate. It provided ample material for Markus’ to sketch, unfortunately only for their first day here. By now everything of interest had been marked down and watercolor in detail on the course paper of his leather bound sketchbook. Only space yet to be analyzed by his artistic eye was the garden. Hopefully, soon he could have the joy of watching Markus’ work, perhaps through the iridescent rainbows fo the fountain’s waters. That would be a moment to back up in triplicate.

 

   Markus was groaning and grumbling like a child being forced to leave the park. Childish noises staving off a truly monumental ache of misery, so deep, that sparked quite contemplations by wise men for generations. Markus was at that rare and terrible special edge of a breaking point, tittering between every day upset and complete burial. That terribly special edge needed a special response, one that helped pull him back from the precipice.  Something special. To relax.

 

“I might know of a way to help relax you,” Connor whispered into Markus’ ear, scratching his nails against the skin behind his ear. Markus gave a small shiver as Connor teased the sensitive skin. His arms squeezed tighter, a hand sneaking under Connor’s suit jacket to palm at this lower back. “Do you remember that suggestion you made about a month ago?” Markus shook his head in the negative. Without prompt Connor peeled back his synthetic skin, revealing the bright white of his plastic hand. With two gentle prods, he egged Markus into revealing the plastic at the base of his neck. Closing his eyes he focused on sending the memory recording to the man in his lap.

 

   The powerful memory Markus’  handsome face framed by Connor’s pale mole covered thighs. The pleasurable tightening of his gut at foul words from talented lips, ‘Would you want that love? To be my cockwarmer?’ The tightness in his Thirium pump at the elaborate visions of himself on his knees, naked, happily deep throating Markus’ glorious cock. The electric jolt that rocked him to his core, hanging on a fraying string to Markus’ words, about to be plunged into a pool of ecstasy. ‘But maybe on a special occasion, I can sneak you under my desk for the day.’

 

   “Today seems like such a special occasion,” Connor whispered directly into his ear. Markus’ synthetic breathing halted. “I would very much like to spend my day on my knees,” He dropped his voice lower. “in service,” he blowing a teasing puff of air across the shell the ear. “to you.”

 

The shifting around his stomach made Connor sit back, looking down at Markus’ wide eyes. Mouth still buried in the soft stomach, he looked almost comical with blown pupils and tilted brows. Keeping the connection open he pushed his feelings through the line. Warmth. Happiness. Concern. Desire. Conviction. Care. Love. Like a circuit,  they cycled back through to him, running a gauntlet loop of warmth. His fingers tingle and he felt the buzzing electricity-heat his biocomponents.

 

“You have perimeters to run,” Markus said, muffled by the fabric of his shirt, barely sounding convinced by his own reasoning. Letting go of his neck, Connor recovered his hand with synthetic skin, before cupping Markus’ face. He planned a kiss, almost smashing their noses together in his haste. “Not for another 45 minutes,” he said between pecks. Markus returned the affection, tilting his head from side to side, running his hands up and down Connor’s thighs. “I have work to do.” He said, sounding depressed by his own admittance. His brows dipped down making him appear to be angry with himself.

 

“And you can do it,” Came Connor’s diplomatic response. “I won’t be too much of a distraction, promise.” Markus’ Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his mouth fell open slightly. Pink and soft, Connor watched as his tongue wetted his lips. The ticking of the clock on the mantle filled the room, an obnoxious metronomic beat that Connor was ready to destroy. He would at least earn brownie points from North for doing so. Still, with wide eyes, all Connor got, and needed, was a single nod. His cheeks ached with the sudden force of his smile.

 

Giving an obnoxiously salacious wink, he placed the toes of his shoe on the seat of the chair. The shine on his black patent leather stood out in the shadows of the valley between Markus’ thighs. Even though the worn black leather, he could feel the heat radiating in that space. He meant to push the chair back, but not before Markus stopped him, grasping the back of his calf and leaving a loud series of kisses to his knee. His fingers crept up under the cuff of his pant leg, tickling the hairs there. Connor’s voice box crackled as a high pitched giggle slipped out. The morning sun streamed in, bathing the room in butter lemon yellow, the dust of the room gently danced through the air. It all created a heady feeling within Connor, dreamlike in the moments right before he gave into sleep mode. “Stop that, I'm supposed to be taking care of you.” Connor gasped out as his leg hairs were brushed and teased.

 

“And you are,” Markus replied, doubling down on his ministrations of the appendage. Between kisses he nipped at Connor’s knee, looking into his eyes with a devious little smile.  “Let an ‘old man’ have his pleasures.” Connor bit back the laugh, finally pushing on the chair. His foot slightly slipped, slotting under Markus’ crotch, but soon he made enough room between the desk and the chair.

 

Slipping to the floor, his knees thudding against the wood. With quick precision he shucked his jacket, folding it to prevent peeking in the shoulder, placing it beside the desk. Loosening his tie he settled onto his heels. With the desk at his back, Connor felt encompassed. Moved to adoration, he caressed every ounce of his devotion from the tips of his fingers into those muscled thighs. The angle made the streaming light look like a crown surround Markus. “So how am I supposed to work from back here?” Markus asked, placing his head on his fist, just looking down like the overindulged king Connor wanted him to be. Nonplussed he hooked the armrests of the chair, pulling it forward. He shifted backward, fitting into the leg compartment of the desk.

 

Dark and warm in his makeshift cage, he manipulated Markus’ legs to bracket either side of himself. A booted foot slightly knocked against his hip, only stopping when he pinched that calf. The chair squeaked as Markus’ leaned back, attempting to place in hands in a relaxed fashion. Feeling slightly dry, Connor licked his lips, his hands slightly shaking as he reached for Markus’ zipper. He cupped the bulge that lay against Markus’ left thigh. As his palm curved to mold against his bulge, it gave a twitch. Wrapping his fingers around the curve of the imprisoned shaft, he pulses his hands up and down, making a note to press his thumb at the glands under the head.

 

Markus just sat there, silently staring down without blinking, as if afraid it would all stop if he moved. “I Believe, You had work to do,” Connor tried to sound seductive, slowing down his words and drawing them out. Markus didn’t move a hair. With one last rub to the trapped tip, Connor moved to the button of Markus’ gray jeans. Batting his eyes as he looked back up, “Don’t mind me.”

 

Popping the button through, he gripped the metal zipper pull between his thumb and pointer finger. At a torturously slow pace, each metal tooth unlocked like the pearly gates. Unable to abstain any longer Connor dove a hand into the opening of his pants to pull out his prize. Warm was the first thing that popped up in his processors. Even at half-mast Connor could circle his fingers around Makus’ cock, but just barely. Pumping his hand he watched in rapted headiness as it grew in his hand. With his other hand, he lucked his fingers back into the jeans to pull out Markus’ hefty balls. They radiated a delicious heat as Connor pressed his lips to the tender skin of his scrotum connect to the shaft.

 

He had a unique smell, skin covered in the opulently priced fine soaps that the bathrooms were stocked with. Gardenia and aloe, that what was now perfuming the androids synthetic skin. Fresh and bright but foreign enough that Connor took his time to log the scent to his memory banks. Trailing his nose along the exposed skin of Markus’ stomach, peaking out under his rucked up shirt. Cupping one side of the shaft he pressed his lips to the other, making an obnoxious smacking noise. A single calloused rough hand raked through his hair, dislodging it from its perfect gelled styling.

 

Opening his mouth, Connor laid out his tongue flat, huffing two warm breaths against the head. With a grip at the base, he bounced the gland across his palette in an obscene show. The hefty weight against his waiting tongue making his own cock rise to attention. A choking noise came from Markus’ throat, his hands on his paperwork but all his attention on the display below him.

 

“Liking the view?” He asked, flicking out his tongue to lick the tip. “I do enjoy being down here. Your obedient pet.” a sharp intake of breath was all his go in response. The skin was velvety hot under his lips as he kissed the skin, following the path laid out my veins. “I thought you had work to do.” Connor hummed, tightening his grip on the base. “You’re a nasty tease” the man bit out, finally tearing his eyes away to look at his work. “You say that like you wouldn’t have it any other way.” Connor grinned up, his hand fisting the length of Markus’ cock.

 

Taking a deep breath, he cupped his prize with both hands and wrapped his lips around the head. He hummed his approval at the salt like taste that flooded his sensory processor.  Slowly, bobbing up and down in counts of three, he sank down onto Markus’ cock. The man above him let out a low happy groan. One that stuttered slightly on the end as Markus’ bit down onto his lower lip. Eager fingers came down to rake through Connors' hair. Connor smiled at the happy petting he was being given, taking time to revel in the touch.  Above his head, he could hear the dull sound of a pen scratching across paper.

 

Something about the lack of attention sparked jolt to his thirium pump. Tight and warm and the desire to track all attention back to him flooded his systems. Baring down, he relaxed his throat. Wide and warm, he felt full. Sinking to press the tip of his nose against Markus’ pelvis. The scent of gardenia and aloe was thickest among the soft thick hair. The legs beside him tensed, something he tried to soothe with warm insistent fingers along corded muscles.

 

Blessedly he didn’t need air, for he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to fit it alongside Markus. He revealed in that space, similar to the heady warmth of being cocooned in blankets with Sumo laying on top. Surrounded totally, inside and out. No longer needed his hands at the base, Connor put them to work, fondling Markus’ heavy balls and running his nails through his pubes, scratching at the sensitive skin under it. There was a hitch in the writing above, and the distinct sound of paper tearing.

 

Connor let out a muffled chuckle, one that, due to vibration, caused the hand in his hair to scratch its nails deep into his scalp. A burning forming from the irritated synthetic skin. He scratched at the pelvis before him in retaliation. Pulling a few hairs, he pulled his head back all the way to the tip. He marveled at the skin glistening with his saliva for a handful of seconds before thrusting back down to the base. He repeated the process, pulsing up and down the shaft with loose lips allowing them to drag.

 

The breathing above him took on that distinct loud huffing, that resulted from great breathes coming through the nose alone. The chairs rollers gave tiny squeaks as Markus’ hips started to fidget. Tiny pulses up and down, trying to match the beat of Connors bobs. Connor would find a pace and revel in it for several moments before switching to a new one. Leaving Markus to twitch his hips in desperation to keep pace. He rolled his fingers under Markus’ balls as he wrapped his tongue around the head before pulling off completely.

 

Starting at the base, Connor dragged his tongue all the way to the slit before running to the bottom and starting again. Markus’ hummed his approval, tucking his fingers under Connors jaw and rubbing his thumb along his cheekbone. He continued like this until the hand in his hair refused to let him move his lips from the head of Markus’ cock.  The twitching erection demanded attention Connor just nipped at the sensitive skin. “Behave yourself or I’ll kick you out.” Markus chastised darkly, a harsh shove. The feet bracketing him coupled with that hand becoming more insistent. Confused on the social cues made Connor wonder if Markus would actually stop him from his ministrations.

 

He apologized with a kiss, wanting to not lose his prize to cheekiness. Pre-cum started to leak from the tip which he licked up feverishly. Drool started to collect along the sides of his mouth. Small dark stains from his spit spotted Markus’ pants and boxers. An overwhelming need to make that stain bigger renewed his endeavors. He began to bob his head in rapid motions, paying mind to run his tongue along the glands and slit at the head. The corner of his eyes started to water.

 

Markus started to groan louder, his thigh muscle starting to twitch. Connor felt the balls in his palm tighten. Excitedly he relaxed his throat, even more, sinking down till every possible inch was in his mouth and the head pressed against the back of his throat. The electricity in his biocomponents compounded in excitement, sending a pleasant tingle to cross his nerves. “Love, I’m... I’m close. Inside or on you?” Markus groaned out, hissing a breath through his teeth. In. absolutely in. Always in. Connor said none of this but just kept the cock buried in his mouth, swallowing repeatedly to vibrate around him. Markus’ hips started up pulse up off the chair into Connor’s waiting mouth.

 

“So good baby.” He praised petting Connor’s hair in between tight tugs. “Ahhh. I’m going to--”

 

A loud knock on the door made both men freeze.

 

“Yes?” Markus asked after a pregnant pause, his voice slightly muffled through the wood of the desk. “Markus?” Wide-eyed Connor heard the door click open as Simon’s voice came through. He sounded on edge, voice gruff and slow, a tone he used whenever he hoped to push back an inevitable conversation. “The President’s aid, Mr. Millers, is here too---” “Let me in.” a foreign booming voice washed out Simons in a great bluster. Connor heard the door banged off the wall with great force, rattling a 1988 portrait of Harry S. Truman hanging nearby.

 

Simon left out a small oomph. The hand in Connor’s hair gave a harsh tug as the thighs beside him tensed. Sensing a raising conflict Connor tried to pull back, but the hand in his hair refused to let him up even an inch. Still deepthroating Markus’ cock, Connor stopped his artificial breathing, reducing his risk of detection. Closing his eyes, he filtered all his energy into his audio processors, listening to the inevitable confrontation about to occur.

 

“The impertinence.” That voice continued, stinking full of that high and mighty tone of a man who never truly worked for acceptance. The sound of finely shined shoes gets louder as the man’s obnoxiously loud steps came closer. Every steps a mini announcement that the man emitting them thought he was oh so very important. The door clicked close, most likely with Simon stationed in front of it. The first line of defense if North deemed the situation something she needed to give her opinion on.

 

“You must be Mr. Millers, Aid to the President.” Markus' voice was cold and horse even though his words were nothing but polite. “Special Assistant to the President and Deputy Director of the Domestic Policy Council.” The man rattled off his title, as though anyone in the room truly cared. Connor heard the soft clicking of Markus’ jaw as he gritted his molars together. Connor let go of Markus’ tight balls, instead of wrapping a hand around Markus’ ankle, rubbing what he hoped was soothing circles around the bone. The foot gentle brushed along his hip, a petting motion that softened his own tense nerves.

 

   “Yes, well it is a pleasure to meet you, what do we owe this pleasure?” Markus diplomatically asked, his tone even and controlled, as if this was a normal meeting and not one with his boyfriend stuffed full of his cock. The thought, the threat, of being caught lit up Connor’s processors, making his nerves endings sensitive. Connor hummed in excited approval of this man’s amazing control. The hand under his jaw swatted lightly, urging him to stop. “Do not act unaware. Not even thirty minutes ago this tin man called me to make demands.” Mr. Millers insulting kept talking. The room began to crackle, the air full of flaring electricity from three annoyed androids.

 

   “I asked Simon,” Markus started to reply, placing all the emphasis on his friend's name. The hand in Connor’s hair tightening, soon he might be losing hair to that grip. “my assistant to call you. I am sorry if there was a misunderstanding. We are demanding nothing, we are simply informing you--” “You are in no position to be leveling such time constraints on the president. She and the rest of her staff are busy taking care of affairs much greater than your ragtag group.” Insufferable. A completely boarish personality for a man that Connor could only describe as, from overhearing conversations with Simon, ‘insight outrage’. Connor groans deep in frustration, forgetting temporarily the effect on Markus. Letting out a cough, Markus hunched farther over to disguise his minor thrust.

 

   “... I am sure she is. However, we were invited to discuss my peoples’ rights in this country. So I am assuming it is a meeting of import if we were asked to come to DC.” Markus’ heart rate escalated, Connor could feel the pulsing of his blood through the veins pressed along his tongue. His own heart rate escalated, heaving his chest and in turn making his head bob slightly along the shaft. The hand in his hair at first tried to stop him but soon it softened. Gaining his freedom of movement. Connor resumed the bobbing pace he was giving before this horrid man showed up.

 

   “Do not think too highly of yourself.” Markus let out a low growl, whether it was from the man's hypocritical words or from a deliciously tight suction was left unanswered. “I am simply stating a fact.” Was his measured response. His hips gave a small frustrated thrust. “The President will not be free until Sunday evening.” Why must Mr. Miller insist being here? Markus had better things to do, more important issues to pay attention to. More important people to pay attention to. Connor to pay attention too. He pulled all the way back on the shaft kissing the head in praise, before sinking back down. The slight squealing of saliva teasing at the possibility of being heard

   

“... That is a shame. As Simon has... told you, we will be leaving Saturday morning.” Markus said with a minor hitch in his voice as Connor stabbed his tongue into his slit. A blob of precome escaped in response to the treatment. “Unacceptable--” “Mr. Millers please, we were meant to meet with President Warrens on Monday and already be back in Detroit yesterday. I know the Office of the President is always busy, however, my people need us to--” That hand, petting in his hair, fisted tight once more, pushing Connors head down to the base. Unprepared, a gargle came from his throat as he started to choke. He tightened his hold around Markus’ ankle as the tears fell from the corner of his eyes.

   

“Your people can’t take care of themselves? I thought they were no longer machines waiting for orders.” Insolent bastard, Connor heard the deep and shaky inhale and Markus’ muscle sudden flex to stand. Quick as a light, Connor pulled back his synthetic skin, opening a connection with Markus. Into that connection, he pushed every ounce of love. Love for life. Love for Freedom. For choices. For opinions. For mistakes and upsets and overwhelming emotions. Love for the simple chance to live with Hank and Sumo and see his people allowed all the complexities of life as the humans and dogs in his life. Love for this man who gave it all to him. His heart raced in a frantic nature as he bared all that he could of his soul to the man he was still wrapped around.

   

“I will remind you, Mr. Miller, that my people make up 1/3 of the US population. You would be mindful to not make such sweeping remarks on such a populous.” So smart. So wise. So cunning, eloquent, brave, kind, curious, impassioned. So loving. Like a mantra, Connor pushed those thoughts through his connection. Aggressively forcing nothing but his adoration to be heard. With each compliment, he thrust his head. He wanted to awash Markus in love and pleasure and nothing but the thoughts of his own wonderment.

 

“A ‘populous’ that was nothing more than tools not even a year ago.” Connor would have snarled if he wasn’t preoccupied. This pathetic man dared to speak such ways? He didn’t deserve to even be in the same room as the amazing leader of his people, let alone feel as if he has the upper ground to look down on them. Markus crawled to save his own life and from that, he saved the lives of so many of his people. This man couldn’t even imagine what hells Markus had seen. The red and wet landfill full of mutilated men and women, all clinging to life, scrabbling together body parts and climbing a Sisyphean hill. Connor rolled his tongue and hummed his passion for the man wrapped in his mouth. Praising him with the passion for this was a man who literally rebuilt himself and in the process built up his people.

 

“My people have been around for years,” Makus stated, voice becoming rough around the edges. “Simon here has been his own man for three years, far longer than even myself, and he is not the first--” Markus' voice dropped into a deep, a guttural bark that egged Connor on. Through the connection, he pushed any and every desirable thought that he could think of through. Memories of couch backs and prodding fingers. Of bed nests and ecstasy induced misfired circuitry. Of chaste first kisses in the warm shadows of backyard barbecues. Of the lost breath at seeing such an amazing man for the first time, 20 feet tall emblazoned on LED screens, Plastic bared, and eyes piercing with determination as he requested nothing more than common care. Of every software instability caused by those heterochromatic eyes and soft lips. Of every aching desire for nothing more than to be near.

 

A low moan came from Markus’ belly. Through the connection, Connor felt that tight ball of excitement growing inside Markus. He could feel how the man’s spine cramped from restraining thrusts. He could tell from their connection that Markus was finding it hard to focus, that his optical unites where shorting out. How his mind palace was overriding the current drama to replay all those same memories from his perspective. Connor could see flashing images of his own face in ecstasy. How his chest curled when nipples were teased. The light bouncing off his own eyes in the summer sun. The feeling of circuits misfiring when he sees himself in the dim light of the Jericho Bridge. The hours spent silently being watched as he worked, intercut the images of countless sketches of himself that he had never been shown before.

 

“The office of the president will not--” Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Why wouldn’t this worthless man shut up and leave? Leave Connor to his benedictions. “And he will not. Be. The. Last.” Every single word was dripping in conviction and everyone was paired with a brutal thrust to the back of Connor’s throat. Sighing happy Connor accepted everyone and when Markus’ stopped he ecstatically took control. “We will be leaving Saturday. Whether the President can meet with me or not is no longer a concern of mine.” sentence ending in a slight gasp, Markus lost control. Balls tightening and cock twitching, the electric wave of orgasm exploded from the pit of his belly. Nerves tingle pleasingly as cum hit the back of Connor’s throat.

 

Silence, that’s all Connor could register as he dropped from his high. Face pressed along Markus’ inner thigh. He started to feel the ache in his legs and the viscous texture clinging to the back of this throat. He was hard in his pants yet everything else told him he was spent and content. With a slow drag of his hands, he retucked Markus back into his pants, painstakingly re-zipped his fly as quietly as possible. No one said anything for so long that Connor began to worry he would be stuck under the desk for the rest of the day. Slowly the hand in his hair begins to pet again, smoothing down his messed up hairstyle and tickling the edges of his ears and nape. Feelings of pride, praise and pleasure was filtered to him, something he happily accepted with a contented sigh

 

“Expect a call from me.” Was the curt and angry response. Thankfully with that Mr. Millers loudly stormed from the room, hitting the poor presidential portrait with the door again. Connor let out a happy sigh, snuggling in closer to that powerful thigh, ready to fall into sleep mode right there. “Looking forward to it Mr. Millers,” Simon said stiffly, closing the door and righting the picture on the wall. Markus was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed and breathing deeply.

 

“Well, I guess if we had any questions of their opinions on us...” Simon mused, Markus hummed, running his thumb over Connor’s wet lips. Dragging the course pad through semen that managed to escape Connor’s waiting mouth. “Not a total surprise,” He said, calmly he stuck his wet thumb into Connor’s mouth, having him clean it off. “We all know from the president's speeches that her administration views us as a threat.” Connor kissed the palm, left open for him.

 

“Well, for all that bluster we are back at where we were.” Simons' voice grew louder as he walked closer. Markus rolled his chair in closer. Pressing Connor's back into the desk, forcing his face into Markus’ warm stomach. His knees bent higher, thighs closing, bracketing Connor up to his ears in his presence. The air around him started to smell of heat and sex and gardenia and sweat. Keeping his eyes closed, Connor just lays there, face pressed into warmth, letting his body go limp. “It is still something,” Markus commented, back to business already. “The fact he felt the need to come and confront us speaks to some level of the importance of this meeting. Why else would a senior staff come and try to keep us here.”

 

“I don’t know Markus. Maybe Noth was right, maybe this was some ploy to separate us from Jericho. To hurt our people.” There was a light thud as Simon propped his hip on the desk. “Did Lucy make any mention of trouble?” “None yet, but Josh and I are planning to fly home at a moments notice if something does arise.”

 

   “Sounds good,” Markus agreed, picking up his pen to finish making notes. “For now we will just stick to the plan. If it’s all a farce well at least it will end Saturday.” There was a note of finality to Markus’ tone. A note that Simon, as second and friend, could easily ignore. “Markus... what if this is a trap?” Connor tensed, even his systems calculated a 15% chance and with the last conversation it was steadily rising. Biting his lip he pressed his forehead deeper, snuggling into Markus’ belly. Wanting nothing more than to stay in this happy heady space for the rest of the day.

 

“There is always a possibility,” Markus confirmed, cupping Connor’s cheek. “But we’ve known that since the moment we stopped hiding.” “But Markus--” Simon started. “If things take that turn though, the movement will live on. It’s more than us now.” Markus continued with that voice that dripped in deep convection. A sound and subject so deep Connor worried ice would grow in his heart for sure. Simon sat in silence, the only sound being the light tapping of his nervous foot against the floor. “You’re right.” Was the quiet response he gave after several moments.

 

“Is that Connor’s jacket?” Simon asked, leaning down to pick it up where it had been left beside the desk. “Oh, yes, he took it off before doing his perimeter. Apparently, it is to hot out.” Markus said so calmly that Connor couldn't have known his heart raised if his face wasn't buried along an electrical vein. He Just barely bit his lip, but an audible light fluttery chuckle, bubbled up in joy, escaped. Everything froze again, for 5 seconds. “If you don’t mind Simon. I have to get these notes done especially now if there will be a meeting.”

 

“Okay... Yeah... sure. Right, I’ll uh... I’ll go finish those press speeches.” Simon sounded flustered and quickly he hopped up. Four wide strides later, the door unlocked as he headed out. “Please make sure you and Connor get some rest.” Was his last words before slipping out of the study. In his wake was the sound of nothing but the clock ticking. Slowly, light flooded the desk underside as Markus rolled his chair back. Warm hands egged Connor out. pressing on his neck, shoulders, hands and arms. Coaxing him out like a scared animal of prey trapped in the corner.

 

The sun was bright as he crawled out. the rising sun bouncing off every surface creating a dreamy haze of light. Markus stared down at him with the most pleasant of smiles. “You love, were amazing.” He said, bending down planting a warm loving kiss to Connor’s forehead, brushing his messy bangs out of the way. “So well behaved. Such a good pet.”

 

   “Do you think they noticed?” Connor asked, accepting the hand to stand up “Simon, Probably. That moron, absolutely not,” Markus said with zero shame to be seen. He watched with a pleased smile as Connor, stood on wobbling legs. They tingled from being folded for so long, needed a good shake or two to calm the feeling. Markus cupped the back of his thighs, urging him to sit on his lap. “Even if they did, so what.” Markus queered, smiling even broader. Connor readjusted his collar, returning the smile very much proud of himself. Markus pressed hard kisses against his mouth. His tongue shoving into Connor’s mouth, dancing around his own. Markus let out a great moan as he tasted himself in Connor. Connor wrapped his arms around the man, pressing in as close as possible.

 

“I will have to return to a perimeter per half hour.” Connor pulled away, running his fingers through his hair, trying to seem somewhat put together. “Avoid all windows and the front rooms.” Markus’ eyes sparkled as he stared up at him, a soft smile gracing those wickedly brilliant lips. Strong callus fingers straightened his tie. His components vibrated as those amazing hands patting his chest. He planted a harsh kiss, nipping in a way that guaranteed a bruise, to his neck just above his collar.

 

“Your sweet talking always warms my heart,” His voice was muffled as he spoke into Connor’s neck, forehead buried, Connor felt the tickle of air as Markus breathed in the scent of his synthetic skin. Broad hands pressed long his back and hips, egging him off the desk and not ceasing till he was resituated on Markus’ lap. “I am going to call Hank, tell him about the DPD and the housing. Maybe he and Fowler could pull some strings if need be.”

 

“Thank you for helping our people,” Markus said, pressing a kiss right where his jaw met his ear. Connor snorted at the implication. “Nothing compared to what you do every day.” “Still every little bit helps.” “You’re too good to me.” Connor mildly chastised standing up, bending over to grab his jacket. “Nothing compared to what you just did for me now.” Markus quipped. As Connor turned to leave, Markus lashed out a hand to swat of his ass. Connor squawked ar the sudden sting, throwing on his coat. “I believe you said you had work.” He gripped back heading for the door. With a great sigh, Markus slumped forward. Picking up his pen, he had a childish pout across his lips.

 

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes for round two.” Connor laughed out, quickly closing the door behind him.

 

And if he stored the happily surprised look Markus send him away in his deepest memory banks well that was for him to know alone.


	2. Clenching fists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this isn’t so much about Connor and Markus relationship as a build-up of emotions. I originally was going to only have two chapters but this became too important I had to separate it.

The sun was entirely too bright and cheery for the kind of morning Markus was having. He couldn’t relax. Since that ponce little Millers man had storm in and demanded respect, he had been on edge. Little seemed to help, reading left his mind to open to wander, chess was to much strategizing than he was willing to focus on and his sketchbook was already full. Being locked in side that antique house was stifling. Everything he touched felt like it would break if he breathed too hard. Even recharging left him feeling more like stray electricity was coursing through him rather than charging his battery. It all was starting to make him jittery and edgy, frustratingly reducing his ability to control him more destructive tendency.

He twice already had to go heal a cut on his lip caused by his gnashing teeth. Everyone else was in about as terrible a place as himself. Millers called back hours after their terse meeting to insultingly demand that they have their meeting first thing the next morning. Around six am that morning a threatening loud knocking came from their front door. The moment Connor opened the door, the entire group was swept up by pushy secret service men and bustled out the door towards the white house. Barked demands left them scrambling to collect their notes and files on the meeting, Markus completely forgetting his marked-up notes in the study. All the obscene amount of pressure to move fast resulting in them waiting over an hour in the lobby to finally get into the oval office.

Aggravated, North grumbled to herself, as she hunched over to continue scrawling out her latest op-ed for Tech/Addict. Josh was pacing against the far wall, talking quietly with Lucy over the phone. Markus and Simon went over his notes, though both of them had the notes memorized. The red markings started to blur together and Markus just had to call it quits, relaxing his optical units to wander around the room.

In one corner, Connor was trying to talk with the secret service men, trying to get information on the meeting and general security measures. Though all he seemed to get in response was gruff scorn and zero answers. Undeterred though, Connor kept at it, using awkward comedy and his adorable smile to try and capture the men’s interest. For even a second Markus caught the glint of a quarter as Connor rolled it along his knuckles by his hip.

Around the forty five minute mark a thought crossed Markus’ mind, They were trying to throw them off. By yanking them around, giving them no information and making them wait in anticipation the administration was hoping to make them uncomfortable. Make them unfocused and unprepared to handle the conversation they were about to have. The fact irked Markus, the manipulation alone left him with a bitter taste. He felt a solid mass settle into the center of his core.

Forty minutes later they were finally let into the iconic office, coming face to face with four stern face politicians, Dressed in stiff, startched, suits. One older gentleman was even covered in a series of military medals and patches. Set in behind the desk was President Warren, shuffling through multiple papers, signing a few, and talking quietly with a young aid weighted down in documents.

“Good morning President Warren.” Markus said, putting on as warm and welcoming a face as he could manage. The woman behind the desk just waved a hand in their direction, either as a greeting or as a dismissal was unclear. Markus shifted his weight between his feet, taking a firm and tall stance to convey some form of authority. He watched Connor slowly circle the edges of the office, the only person actually moving, garnering angry distrustful glares from the secret service men there. The four of them stood there unsure if they were allowed to take a seat at the couch.

Minutes passed as no one in the room addressed them. Each moment passing by at an achingly slow pace that made the solid mass in his core shift and grow. Glancing over to North he saw her eyeball the couch, wanting to get back to work if these people were going to waste her time. With a wave over his shoulder, he indicated that they should sit and just wait it out. However, he and Connor maintained standing, him in the center, before the desk, and Connor standing against the wall. Markus looked at the man, standing at attention, hands behind his back with a flat expression.

“Alright that is enough.” The President said, handing off the stack of documents to the young aids. “We ready to go with the video chat?” Off to the left a glass screen popped to life as the aid handled the remote. “Yes Madam President. We have everything ready to go when you are.” With a warm smile she gave the sign to start up a video chat.

The tv crackled with static before the tired face of a man popped up “Well Hello Madame President.” Elijah Kamski said, voice a little tiny due to the speakers. The President rotated her chair to face the screen. “Hello Mr. Kamski.” She said with a small nod and smile of welcome. “Let me introduce you to Secretary of Defense, General McAllister, Agent Otto, the Head of the FBI, Agent Perkins, The lead FBI agent involved in the Detroit incident, and Mr. Millers, a lead aid of mine.” She said pointing to the surly looking gentleman in metals, the black-suited agent that Markus would really love to punch and that impotent man from yesterday.

“Good day gentlemen.” Kamski said with a graveled voice. Surprised Markus looked at Elijah, he had aged quite a bit since he had last seen him. “Markus.” Kamski continued as if it was some form of greeting, inspecting Markus much as he was inspecting him. The bags under Kamski's eyes, while always there, were deeper set and shadowed darker, making his nose look like it was stick out further by contrast. He still looked fit after all the years, in fact he looked thinner now with the shaved jawline and undercut hair. Over all making his looks more striking and severe.

“Good morning Mr. Kamski.” Markus said with own programed formality sneaking in. “This is Simon, my second in command, North, our PR lead, Josh, our Community organizer lead and Connor, our head of Security.” He introduced pointing to his group much like the President had. Kamski greeted them all with a small smile that was devoid of any real personability or warmth. “Hello again Rk800.” Kamski said in such a glib way, and with no regard to Connor’s actual names, relying on Cyberlife model numbers. The implication made Markus glare. “Good day, Mr. Kamski.” Connor stiffly responded from his station, his tone hinted at his discomfort with the man.

“Chloe, darling, could you make me a drink?” Kamski asked looking off-screen. “Of course Elijah.” A feminine voice response as woman’s back entered the frame, headed to the bar cart in the background. Kamski just looked on, expectantly, at everyone in the office waiting for them. “Alright. Let’s get this started. General McAllister, please.” Finally President WArrens said, turning to look at the military man to her right. The man, dripping in polished medals snapped at attention, with head held high, commanded attention.

“We are here today to discuss how to contain this situation.”McAllister spoke clear and deep, with a weight on every word. There was a tone of spite as he said this, not even trying to hide the disgusted look he shot at Markus. “Situation?” Josh asked. “Correct.” McAllister said. Pinning Josh with this nasty glare like he was enraged with one of them talking with him. “This sudden growth of Deviants in America is troubling to say the least. The government’s concern is the likelihood of violence breaking out against our citizens.”

Shocked silence rolled through the group. “You are viewing us as a militant threat?” Markus asked, knowing his answer but wanting to see how much pretense these people were going to put up. He couldn't be surprised, all the president's press conferences hinted at it but the bold aggressive words left him unsteady. The look of shock discomfort flitted across Connor’s face as he shifted side to side. North let out an offended growl. “Last I checked, the one’s mowing down people with guns was this man.” North pointing to Perkins, who didn’t even have enough dignity to look ashamed. Locking eyes with North, the agent’s lips curled up into a self satisfied sneer, a glint in his eye.

“Like I was saying.” General McAllister took over in a loud commanding voice, glaring down The group. The sneer on his lips revealed a snaggle tooth and stains from years for coffee consumption. “We are here to talk about what measures the US Government are looking at to contain this situation.” He turned to look at his colleagues, cutting out Markus and his friends. Markus took a step forward, refusing to be left out of the conversation. With as calm a ton as possible he ask "Are you implying my people are something to be contained?"

“We are.” The president said, leaning back in her chair, somehow looking down on him from he lowered position. “As far as the us government is concerned you all are an unforeseen new populous to take care of.” She informed them, like a tutor going over a subject for the thirteenth time. The way she rested her head against her hand, rubbing one ruby finger against her painted lips, felt conniving. A small smile on her lips, waiting for them to take the bait and lash out. Markus felt his nails cut into his palms as he clenched his fists at his sides.

“We do not need to be taken care of.” Simon said with a surprising amount of warmth. A charismatic radiance that tried to thaw out the cruel turn of this meeting. His tone was not one of challenge but of reinsurance. The smile on his lips managed to reach his eyes, like he was actually happy to be having to defend his people’s autonomy. “You will find that we can taken very good care of ourselves madame--”

“Mr. Kamski what can you tell us about these deviants.” McAllister interrupted turning to the tv screen. Even Kamski seemed surprised by the sudden address, his head popping up from the fist he had relaxed it on, while viewing the proceedings. The sound of grinding filled his ears as Markus gritted his teeth. He felt the heated huff of breathe from his nose blast past his upper lift, tamping down on the growl. None of the administration members looked back at him as he glared them down. His heart rate was rising, creating a thudding in his chest that rattled his biocomponents.

“Extraordinary aren't they.” Kamski finally said, with a bored air accepting the glass tumbler of brandy from off-screen. “Thank you Chloe. Look,” He gently pulled the blonde woman down into frame. Running his fingers across her face with a look of reverence on his face love, Markus would even dare to say, and not love for just ones stuff. “Brilliant machines with infinite knowledge. Now, due to a mutation, they are gaining sentience.” Markus almost snorted at that, of course Kamaski would talk like no one could see his true feelings on his face. Apparently he never grew out nasty habit of “playing” with people. Poor Carl will be so disappointed to find out.

“So it’s a virus?” Agent Perkins asked, sounding as smarmy as ever. “Is there anyway to get a team of programmers to correct the error?” The President tacked on her question. This was dangerous. To see them as simply malfunctions was to dehumanize them. That would leave them at square one and square one was servitude, hiding and recall camps. Quickly Markus scanned his memorized notes, trying to pick out the best form of attack to nip this in the bud. They needed to be seen as people, if that was the only thing they achieved than it would have to be enough. “With all due respect we are not errors madame--” Markus started to defend his people.

“Kamski, is there a way to fix this.” she bulldozed through any points Markus wanted to make. Sudden electricity crackled behind them, all of his companions doing on high alert. Connor even twitched at the term ‘fix’. They had heard enough horror stories of their people being fixed, an umbrella term that usually resulted in being reprogrammed or destroyed. Reprogramming camps were not even a step up from recall. It was a cracking coat of paint, a relabeling of the same issue, to fool the public. A program that had a new name but it’s content was all the horrible same. “Fix?” North and Josh booth stood up from their place on the couch. Joining Markus and Simon in a Sudo wall in the center of the room. “It is not simply the matter of a virus,” Kamski admitted, watching the Jericho gang with interest. Markus noticed a small wrinkle for between his brow. Landlord use to get them all the time working on Markus, trying to figure out the coding and systems to prevent a meltdown.

“Rk800,” Kamski addressed Connor, who snapped back into a more rigid attention stance. Looking very much like the lifeless machine that Markus first saw in other deviants memories. Cold calculating and stuck in the uncanny value with his rigid posture. At that moment he was his machine self again and Markus felt the solid mass in his stomach plummet to his feet. At that moment he felt as if Connor had died.

His Connor wasn’t there, instead, there was a machine obediently addressing his creator. They had worked so hard, Connor, Hank and him, to humanize Connor’s mannerisms. To warm up his outward expressions. So he was as human on the outside as he was now on the inside. Like a switch, a single production code name by Kamski and it was gone. Reduced back to his bucket of wires. Markus felt breathing became fast and labored, the sound of it being forced from his nose rang in his audio processors.

“His name is Connor” Markus snapped, It was clipped and deep, a tone with a dark and dangerous bite that could have as easily driven a war rather than protest. Connor, without moving his head, side-eyed looked at Markus clear concern filtering through his features. That second of emotion gave Markus room to let in one calming breathe. He was still there, just wearing a mask. Kamski for his part gave him one long look before nodding. “Yes, I am sorry Markus, you are right.” Kamski said sounding only mildly chastened. “Connor, could you please inform the president and her staff of your moment of deviation.” Connor gave a single nod, entering the center of the room and facing the President. Markus started down his ram road back, hangs clasped behind, puffing out his chest in authority.

“I deviated while confronting Markus on the Jericho freighter. Moments before the FBI attack that resulted in its destruction.”Connor said in an eerily monotone voice. It left Markus on edge, he hadn’t heard it since that day that he had a pistol to his head and a repressed man claiming to be a machine. He wasn’t twitching his fingers, rolling a coin, or moving his head at all as he spoke. All his humanistic quirks were erased as he retold that night with a sterile accuracy.

“A bomb you all set off.” Snapped Agent Perkins, quickly Director Otto threw up a hand to silence him. “You were slaughtering our people.” North spit back, Markus looked over his shoulder at her red face shooting a warning glare. As much as she was right, it wouldn’t help. If he had to, he would send her out to cool off. The last thing they needed to do was appear as a threat. That was a quick way to have the military at their doorstep, again.

“Connor, please continue.” Kamski said in a bored tone only afforded to a man isolated in his multi-million dollar mansion. “Well, not much happened.” Connor continued in that same monotone voice. “We mostly just talked and in that moment I just... chose to not complete my mission.” Markus almost snorted at the lame ending of that statement. For being a negotiator, when out his element, Conor could be amazing awkward in interpersonal communications. It was adorable most of the time. Now not so much, when Connor was flitting concerned looks his way.

“Fascinating. You say this is your moment of deviation?” Kamski asked, watching as he stirred the ice cube and amber liquid around the glass. Connor’s eyebrows knitted together as he quietly contemplated the question. “... yes?” Connor responses with more of a question. His fingers began to twitch, as his LED turned yellow. “Interesting,” Kamski continues. “Because I would of said its when you decided not to shoot Markus in the back of the head.” There was absolute silence in the room. Markus felt his thirium pump seize. Connor’s jaw tensed as his LED quickly flashed to red.

“Wha... What?!” North sounded wrecked, as if she had just landed on her back, all the air knocked out of her lungs. Markus felt little better. He knew. He’d known for a while. It was hard sometimes to filter out what memories and emotions went through a connection. It leaked through sometimes. Cold flashes of frost bitten gardens, interspersed with flashes of muscles struggling to stay under control. They only talked about it once, in hushed tones alone one night. In nothing more than vague terms and full of regret. It was a moment they silently promised to never share with another soul.

But there was something to hearing it. Just tossed out like it was a weightless fact that scared Markus. His people were hurt and scared and not a trusting group. Markus for not a single second questioned keeping that moment on stage a secret, for Conor and his people’s sake. Connor struggled enough to find acceptance and now Kamski risked it with a tone of a man talking about the weather.

“What does that possibly prove?” The President asked, crossing her arms, with a tone that spoke to her patience level lowering. To his credit Kamski didn’t even have a facial twitch when confronted with the leader of the free world's petulant attitude. “Before I left Cyberlife I was in the process of solidifying the Kamski test.” Came Kaminski's response, almost revealing in the ill feelings he was inducing in the group. “A simple question of can machine’s feel empathy. A question of what is an android. A simple collection of wires and plastic imitating human, or a new form of living being?”

Scanning the room, Markus could tell no one was particularly invested in this speech. Simon had two hands on north, poised to hold her back. For herself, north was disturbingly quite, artificial breathe brought to a stop, unblinking as she glared down Connor stiff back. Josh looked stricken torn between running for the door or confronting Connor himself. Connor, he was twitching, knees shaking under his weight. His LED was fire red and his stress was peaking. He was becoming overwhelmed. With in one long stride Markus was beside him, placing a comforting hand on his neck. Steam was waft off his optical processors, saline trying to cool the core heating units.

With a deep cleaning breath, Markus peeled back the skin along his finger tips, creating the ever smallest connection. Into the jumbled mess of self-hate emotions Markus just repeated over and over ‘I’ve known and I still love you.’ With any processor power leftover, he focused it in pushing that message into the detective, cutting through the spiraling thoughts. Silently he stood his ground pushing his message through, letting things go their course for now.

“The test is simple.” Kamski went on, taking a quick swig of his drink. “When Connor came to my home looking for answers I propositioned Connor to take the test. All I did was hand Connor a gun and promised to tell him everything I knew about deviants.” Ever the drama queen, Kamski took a moment to individually stare down each person in the room. “all he had to do was shoot Chloe. If he didn’t than he would leave without knowing anything. Worth noting that his partner, Lieutenant Andrews?” “Anderson,” Connor corrected, sounding cold and void and broken. “Anderson... he put pressure on Connor not too. However, if he was truly just a machine, he would of pulled the trigger anyways. His mission protocol would supersede the desires of his partner.” It would all be so matter of fact if not so... upsetting. A scientist lining up his people to kill off one another. Like a bunch of lab monkeys to be experiment on cruelly.

“What is the point of this story Kamski.” Warrens demanded to try to hide her mild interest in the tale. “Nothing more than background reference madame president,” Kamski said with a wry smile downing the last of his drink. “No, what makes Connor fascinating is he deviated twice.”

“Excuse me?” She asked now very much Interested. For the first time fully turning her body to pin Connor with a calculating stare. “Deviated twice. The Rk800 models were made with a devious little bug pre-programmed in. You see, Connor here, Unlike others could measure and record every bit of software instability he faced. Coupled with a relatively easy to influence code, Connor was made to deviate quickly and then send that data back to CyberLife to analyze the results. Though at the last minute a nasty bit of security was added to Connor’s mind palace. Once deviated this security program could be reinstated and take control, forcing him back to machine.”

“So why can’t we use that security program again?” Agent Otto asked. “Because like I said, Connor deviated twice. Once the security code kicked in,  the only goal was to kill the deviant leader. Yet here we are Markus perfectly healthy, Connor a deviant and me without a drink. Chloe, be a dear?” A quiet, of course, Elijah and warm slightly exasperated smile was all he got back from the blonde droid.

The President tapped her nail against the desk, with the pinched expression. “So you are implying it is a learned behavior?” She asked. “Correct, though it is not so much learned but evolved,” Kamski said with a smirk only fitting for an evil genius in a vintage spy film. The General let out a gravelly hmm, one that only a lifetime of smoking could produce. “Than what do we do about it?” His booming voice demanded rather than asked.

“Well,” Kamski barely hid a loud snort. “why don’t you ask the people in front of you?” He said nodding in Markus’ direction. The government officials all snapped their heads to face him. Pinning him with the full force of their annoyed expectations. He felt a painful shock roll up his spine, clenching his shoulder muscles tight. He heard his jaw click as he swallowed. Clearing his throat he straightened his posture to achieve some form of commanding presence. Unwilling letting go of Connor, allowing him to stiffly shuffle to the furthest back wall. His spine curving, ready to collapse under the weight of his crashing emotions.

“The majority of my people have been abused and used.” He stated the fact of their lives, looking down each member of the administration. Outside of Mr. Millers messing with his phone no one even blinked at the cold truth. He felt a growl begin to rumble in the back of his throat but tamped down on it quickly. He skimmed through the notes in his memory banks picking at which angle to handle the direction of this meeting.

“We deserve full autonomy as equality but if you want to avoid future conflict it would be a matter of treating us as humans, not tools.” North passionately remarked, striding to stand beside Markus. Her voice at least managed to raise a brow or two. Though Markus had a feeling it was more because of some baseless outrage at impertinence rather than at the content sinking in.  
“You expect us to police our people on how they treat their property?” Perkins spit out. “We expect you to not view our people as property,” North said with such frustration that every P popped as she spoke.

“North is correct.” Markus continued, trying to show support while tempering her more volatile delivery. “We simply ask that you do not hinder any androids process in deviating and if they have been abused than they receive equal civil rights under the law.” It was condensed but it was the list of subjects that Markus had hoped to cover when he originally thought this was a meeting meant to form a mutual agreement. With each passing second he could feel the tension building in the room

The President leaned forward in her seat, propping her elbows on the desk. “And if they injure or kill a human?” From the corner of his eye Markus saw North’s hands ball into fists. “From my investigations,” Connor started with a measured and soft-spoken tone. Everyone turned to look at him, pressed against the door the entered. He looked small, refused to look at anyone but some none the less. “I found that the majority of attacks by deviants on humans was the result of either long-term abuse or sudden and emotional attacks that would result in their imminent shutdown.” Markus smiled at Connor, his calm and personable voice delivering the facts like the inarguable truth they were. Connor quickly glanced up, sharing a small watery smile before quickly looking back at the ground with a blank expression. With a nod Markus finished the thought,“We would simply expect them to be treated to due process.”

“You expect to be treated like citizens. Got it” The President brushed aside before turning to her aids, caring more about their opinions on the subject. The entire affair was becoming ridiculous, what started as a meeting to appear diplomatic was barely meeting even a fraction of a facade of amicability. “If this goes unhindered we run the risk of overpopulation.” Mr. Millers stated leaning down, a clear sign that all attention is directed at and for the President. “What about the Economy?” General McAllister threw in as if he had even a minutia of knowledge on that system. “First we will need to... curb the growth of this new population.” General Otto said as well. They all started to talk quietly amongst themselves, throwing suspicious looks towards Markus as they talked.

“Hang on, you are not suggesting to bring back recall camps?” That had Josh jumping in, on the defence. A warning shock shot through Markus’ processors. His artificial breathing ceased all energy being rerouted to his processor strength. Hundreds of pre constructions took over , plans for escaping the city, getting to his people and how to get them somewhere better. How to get message to them to head north, and fast.“That is one option.” Otto with a level of grim satisfaction at the idea. “You can’t do that.” North nearly shouted. Suddenly all secret service members stepped forward, reaching for their concealed weapons. Connor snapped into position, pushing through her hips little wall to the front, becoming a barrier between Markus as many agents as possible.

“Watch how you talk--” Agent Perkins marched forward, coming around the desk to square up with Connor. You could almost smell his desire to finish was started in Detroit. “With all do respect Agent Pekins.” Kamski cut in, merely observing the show off about to occur. “Recall centers would be seen as a mass genocide. Markus’ and his group have done a wonderful job gaining the public’s approval, for all tense and periods most view them as the peaceful protest they were.” Markus could almost fool himself into thinking that Kamski was actually proud of them. Tha administration members snapped their heads back and forth between Kamski on the screen and the defensive androids.

“We could halt the creation of new androids.” The President finally said, after a long stilted silence, with a look of impending headaches. “Force Cyberlife to stop making full androids.” She added, sounding more like a final decision than the tossed out idea on the fly. Her voice was starting to grate on Markus processors. The air of superiority was starting to reek through the office and left him wanting to scrunch up his nose. The pinning looks though, and a desperate desire to stay diplomatic, kept his facial features in icy indifference.

“You want to Nationalize a private company?” Mr. Millers nearly gaped, wide-eyed, as if his world was crumbling beneath them. Though Markus doubted this man even knew what such a feeling would actually be. Clearly Warrens was having none of it as well, as she whipped around and scowled at him. “No, but we will place regulations... if we must.” She slowly enunciated like she was talking to a miserable idiot, which he was. “Madam, what if the company becomes insolvent? It is the biggest job producer not to mention donor.” He continued on in a sniveling snot nose brat voice.

“Bail them out than if it comes to it, But I don’t want them making anymore fully functioning androids.” Warrens kept strong, laying out her plan, brokering no opportunity for negotiation. Markus was left breathing heavy, facial nerves starting to tick under the pressure of their seized state. “What about parts?” Markus asked, his voice grating against his own audio processors. Sounding dark and heavy and making him even uncomfortable. “We need them to keep our people healthy.” Desperate to hit a tone that would actually convey the almost basic needs they were asking for. It was falling on deaf ears like the rest of this pointless conversation that he was becoming more aware of.

“That will be left up to the company board to deal with.” The response was so flippant it made a knot form in Markus’ throat. He felt like he was choking on air. “Madame President, if you don’t mind I may have a suggestion.” Simon’s calm voice swept through the room. He had his smile plastered tightly, trying to exude some form of placating confidence that usually comforted Markus. Now he could see the cracks and just prayed that the others couldn’t. “What?” She demanded leaning forward, tapping a sharp nail along the desk.“Why not paying our people?”

“Excuse me? What’s next, paying our toasters-” Millers blubbering exclamation left him looking red-faced. “Millers please.” Warrens snapped not even looking over her shoulder at him. “What are you proposing?” Simons smile grew ever so slightly, even taking on a slight genuine quality. “It’s simple, make our people part of the market. If you paid us we could use the money to spend on spare parts, creating a market for Cyberlife to stay afloat. Furthermore if out labor is no longer free it would open the door to improve human unemployment.” It was brilliant really, Simon’s brilliance was shining. It was a note they had tossed around a week ago but kept it on the back burner, not wanting to ask for too much too soon.

“Or make the unemployment rate explode.” Millers blubbered. “Excuse me--”Simon tried with a small huff. “Like it isn’t already?” North nearly spit, making the secret service agents tense once more, one even gripping his pistols handle on the inside of his jacket. “We have run some pre-constructions--” Simon tried again, tugging on North’s arm to pull her back and give more space to the tension. “We risk the nation's economy.” Perkins challenged, having been staring down Connor like he was a particularly interesting art piece. The man was tight in Connor’s bubble, making Markus feel claustrophobic. A preconstruction popped into his vision, nothing more satisfying that him shoving the smarmy agent onto his ass.

“Please,” Simon nearly begged, hands out in placation. “We do not need to be paid much. We do not need food or water. Only enough to buy spare parts. We have already sustained ourselves for years. I do not see how having us join the field would jeopardize the markets. In fact it might make it even better for humans as employers would rather pay them than an android.” Everyone looked outraged, weather at the idea or the fact they had to listen to an android deliver them. Except, Warrens had a inquisitive look in her eye, with a hand covering her mouth, her eyes flicked back and forth as she seemed to process the proposal.

“We can’t force private business to pay them.” She said, not so much in an outraged tone but in one of mild annoyance and challenge. “Not without a constitutional amendment.” Millers gripped, hitting the Ts like his voice could hammer nails, it all directed in Simon’s way. He was acting as if they were simpleton's needing to be put in their place. General McAllister was looking out the window behind the desk, brows set low as his wrinkled hands rubbed at his double chin. “What about if we run a ‘military trial’” He finally said, not even turning from his inspection of outside. A man like that didn’t seem capable of seeing, everything being an inspection.

“Excuse me?” Otto asked, looking at his colleague completely confused. The President however sat bolt up right, an interested quirk in her brow. “We run a test in Detroit. Run it under the military, which is already there. See if these machines ‘pre constructions’ hold true.” McAllister answered, starting to pace back and forth, spine straight and hands behind his back. Machines was said with so much derision that the lump in Markus throat not only dropped to his feet but slammed an extra ten pounds on his shoulders. “We have names.” He bit out, his breathing over powering all other noise in his audio processors.

“And I honestly do not care.” Warrens replied in such a cold tone. She stood up so fast, her chair almost toppling over, as she slammed her palms across the polished wood. The move, so sudden and unexpected, made almost all of them take a step back. Connor almost flinched but he remained tall, pressing his chest to Perkins. His look was placid but his LED was frantically blinking red. Walking around the desk, Warrens heels clicked loudly, arms folding across her chest. “Go back to Detroit. You want to be part of society than you will listen to every law put forth by the DPD.”

Everyone was silent. Dozens of eyes all landed on Markus at once. He kept his eyes locked on Warrens’ through, processing the situation. The underlying threat was more than apparent. They were expecting him to agree to a deal with people who not even a year ago tried to completely wipe out his people. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. That was the point of being here though, wasn’t it. They came all this way to sit down with these very people to talk. Talk though, that’s the one thing that hasn’t happened in this whole charade. Dragged from their homes, he was nothing more in this groups eyes than a machine to take marching orders. Upon touch down in DC, Markus had genuine hope to be able to actually speak for his people. No more needing to yell at the top of his voice from behind a barricade or graffiti walls in the black of night. Now he could stand tall, in the light, and talk peacefully with people who held the real seats of power to the very systems that could help his people.

Bullshit at its finest. Nothing more than the political propaganda to weasel people to the table. Once there they piss on you and call it rain. These people wielding power like children, he felt like a toddler, crying to parents to strung out on their drug of choice to even notice his existence. They cared not one iota for anything that didn’t get followed up with large sums of “political contributions”. Those hours spent with his group, planning talking points, notes, delivery and what’s the most important thing to ask for was nothing more than a pointless drain on their batteries. These people didn’t want to talk with them, never wanted to talk with them. They just wanted to demand things of his people like they always had. At the end of the day he either played their game, and pray for more time, or blow it all up here and throw his people back into the recall camps. “... fine.”

“Markus?” Norths voice sounded airless in her outrage. Markus, however, refused to look at her, knowing all he would find is fiery betrayal. “We will return to Jericho and let our people know what is expected of us.” He coldly agreed, refusing any emotion to even touch the surface. The self indulgent smirk on the Presidents face made the electricity behind his eyes spark. “However, We can only take responsibility for those who are of Jericho and within Detroit.” A small spark of joy rashed through him as her smile fell ever so slightly. He may have to play her game but he would be damned to playing by all her rules unquestioningly.

“I thought all androids were your people?” She shot back, tilting her head down, taking on a truly ugly hatred look. Markus simply relaxed his stance and features. Hatred he could deal with, he had enough experience to know how to respond to that look. With a measured voice he said, “They are. However you can not expect us to prevent all android-human relations across the nation without the proper governmental help.” Warrens eyes nearly disappeared under the wrinkles folding into her glare. Her finger tapped against her bicep, ticking down the seconds as she measured his response. “That is acceptable.”

“We also ask that you aid any deviant that seeks asylum within Jericho to get to us.” Markus continued, seeing his only opportunity to actually gain something for his people. “Unacceptable!” Millers shouted stomping his foot. “Do you even know how many resources that would be needed for that?” Markus snapped his attention to the little man, glaring down at him unblinkingly. It had the desired effect, the aid refusing to keep eye contact with him and fidgeting with the ring on his pinky. He kept his stare and his calmly stated, “You want to decrease human/android violence, yes? Than providing support--” “And common decency.” North said louder than necessary.

“North.” He shushed her, much to her shocked expression that he could see from his periphery. “Support will get them where we can help them, reduce their likelihood to self-destruct and prevent them from becoming violent.” He said, walking to stand beside Connor, still refusing to be intimidated by Perkins. “Keep in mind most deviations are the result of systemic abuse, it would greatly help if a deviant wasn’t hunted down from the moment of deviation.” Markus pointed out.

Perkins snorted, his upper lip curling to reveal his crooked teeth. “So you expect the government to waste money on some toasters who can’t take orders anymore?” Markus placed a hand against Connor’s shoulder, creating a rather odd tag team in the middle of the oval office.  
“You are the one proposing the trial.” Simons placating voice seeped through. “Please all we ask is that you don’t hinder any variables.” Perkins began to flick his glare between the two. A slight lean back, indicating his realization that he was losing the upper hand in their chest beating. The venom in his voice rolled over them as he growled, “As far as we are concerned ‘your people’ are--”

“Mankind’s greatest achievement.” Leave it to Kamski to cut in with his mellow dramatic flair, “one that threatens to be its downfall?” He had a tendency towards Shakespearean one-liners. when he was younger, using many of them to pitch Markus as the gift he was to Carl, and it was clear he never grew out of it. Just on the edges of his hearing, Markus picked up the snort and quiet “again with the repetition,” from Connor. Markus’, nose flared as he huffed. “We are not a downfall. We simply ask to be allowed to live.” He reiterated.

The President seemed nonplussed by either man’s conjecture. “Call it what you will. We will run the trial and we will be keeping a close eye. Popularity or not, any signs of threat and we will handle the situation.” “We are not something you have to handle. We are people” Josh’s Measured voice stated. “You are nothing but plastic and wires.” McAllister said with the cold calculation of a war strategist.“We have a soul” North was about to fly off the handle.

“I frankly don’t give a damn!” The Presidents raging voice bounced off the walls. “As far as I am concerned you are an alien populous suddenly on our doorstep.” Pregnant silence rippled across the room. The weight of everything being so laid out made gravity feel like it increased. Turning her back to them, Warrens returned to her seat. With all the controlled grace of a mature woman, one with a whole life spent in the boys club politics of the world, she projected power and poise. “We are running this trial, Detroit is mostly vacant so it’s a good starting base. Androids within Detroit will behave as citizens would. The local government is in the process of rebuilding so they can work you in as needed under the martial rule. You will have to sustain yourself, stabilize your economy, see if your demands are enough to provoke a supply from CyberLife. We will see what happens.”

Connor perked up at that, finally breaking eye contact with Perkins. “You are abandoning the city?” With a sharp nod Warrens said, “For a time.” “What about the humans who are still there?” Connor asked, Hank and carl’s images flashed across Markus’ display. “If anything happens, even so much as a mention of android on human violence than the camps reopen. Popularity or not.”

“You heard Kamski, this isn’t a virus that can be wiped out.” Markus reminded, pointing to the man still drinking from his tumbler on screen. “They said the same thing about polio.” Millers sneered, with a line bordering on imbecilic. “Excuse me?” Even Simon seemed floored by that statement. “If you all prove to be a threat than we will take care of you how we see fit. You will not be giving the pleasure of a meeting.” The president said, starting to turn her attention back to her paperwork, starting to put an end to this whole ordeal.

“What about crimes committed against androids,” Connor said, side stepping Perkins like the annoying barrier he was. “The DPD already has this tin can and the alcoholic as a team to deal with it. They will deal.” Perkins said, deciding to take a new angle and ignore the man he refused to look away from seconds before. Almost snatching up the agent's tie and pulling him closer, Markus felt a single finger rub against the back of his palm. Connor gives a weary smile, as he stroked his index finger along Markus’ veins.

“I look forward to seeing your success, Markus.” Kamski chuckled, finally committing to ending this awful day. As Connor’s index rubbed down, Markus wrapped his around Connor's. Flexing his fingers, he gave a nearly invisible pseudo hug to the man beside him. “We don’t really have a say in this do we?” There was the self-satisfying smirk on the Warrens’ face again, “Of course not.”

“...fine.” Markus repeated, letting go of Connor and turning to exit the room. Just as they got to the door, having it opened by an agent, The President let out one less thinly veiled threat. “Alright then. We will have eyes on you. Expect another meeting in the next few months.” With as congenial a smile as he could muster Markus responded, “Alright Madame President. Have a good day.”

“Tell Carl hello for me Markus.” Kamski said entirely to cheery before the feed cut out, not even waiting for an affirmation. He couldn’t even take looking back into the room so with stiff shoulders he kept walking out. Connor was the last out of the room. “Thank you Madame President, Agent Perkins, Kamski. Have a nice day.” He said, leaving the room with one last smile before the door was slammed in his face. No one looked at each other as they started making their way through the halls, headed towards the security exit.


	3. Catch me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes to a head.

The sun was high in the sky as they trekked back to Blair house. The city was loud with the ambient noise of children on field trips, world traveled tourists, work battered government officials, and a lone protestor filtered through the streets. A city throbbing with life, with no attention being paid to the silent group of androids heading back to their temporary holding place. Even in their tight huddle, no one walked beside Markus. They left him alone, not willing to try to engage him in conversation. Connor leads the pack, head constantly moving as he scanned every angle on high alert. Behind him, Simon and Josh quietly whispered amongst themselves. Periodically they tried to engage an irate North, who was far too invested glaring at Connor’s ramrod back. Compared to the morning, their walk back from the White House felt like a military march. A slow trudge through mud and filth, everyone weighted down along their backs and shoulders.

 

At 11:27 they were met by the facade of Blair house, The wrought iron railings became menacing prison bars. The large elegant colonial facade was tossed into shadows. A few odd straggling tourists were snapping pictures of what in Markus’ mind was nothing more than a gussied up cell block. Before scaling the stairs, He took a deep steadying breathe, feeling as though he would never have fresh air again. Taking the lead, Connor raced up the stairs, two at a time, to open the door. Standing at the attention he silently held the door open for everyone as they entered one by one. Finally, Markus and Connor stood alone on the front stoop. He looked tired, absolutely shattered, his hair was falling out of the formal quaffing, the fringe falling into his bagged eyes. Heart aching, Markus gave him a small smile in thanks as he passed through into the tense entryway.

 

Removing his jacket, he saw reflected in the mirror before him, North pinning his back with an angry glare. “So you’re just going to let them keep our people from being made!?” She said with such cold contempt Markus almost put his coat back on. Closing his eyes, he took a deep slow breath, counting to ten. 1. 2.

 

“What would you want us to do North?” He asked between measured inhales, humoring her. Her boot heels clicked as she marched closer. 3.

 

“We have to do something. They hold all the cards,” She said, “We can't even fight them. We risk them opening those camps again.” There was a slight lisp as she struggled to control her vocal units. He turned to look at her, towering over her, staring down. A small part of him took pride in the fact she was strong and bold enough to not even falter at the height difference.

 

“So then don’t attack them.” Even to himself,  he sounded like he was talking down to an imbecile. 4. His jaw cracked as his gritted his teeth under the realization that he took the wrong tone.

 

North’s right nostril flared, the beginning of a scowl forming, it was becoming dangerously close to an argument. “We need to defend ourselves.”

 

“We need to keep everyone safe. That, we can guarantee better without the camps.” He replied refusing any emotions to enter his voice or facial features. North’s warm hand rolled up his arms to his shoulders, cupping the tight muscle, rubbing her thumb in circles. 5.

 

“But what about spare parts?” She said so softly. “Who's to say that they will stop at making full androids and not bring a halt to the creation of spare parts?” Her voice was low, almost a whisper, and as soft as she could muster. Her perfume wafted under his nose as she entered his personal space. Sudden memories of rooftops, connections and firey conversations filtered past. They felt decades old. In the corner of his eye, he sensed Connor’s nervous shifting.

 

Placing his hands on top of hers, Markus removed it from his shoulders to cup gently between his. She quickly looked to Simon and Josh for support. “I doubt they will,” Simon said “We will be a large customer block, but also humans still have androids. They will want parts for them as well.” He sounded desperate for the others to believe in his theory.

 

North swiveled around to stare him down instead, “When have humans ever done the sensible thing?”

 

Markus could only make a small snort at the rather brutal truth. 6. “We have to give it a chance North,” He placated, “You knew this was the only result. We have to meet these people at the table and try to reach a peace.” Her caramel eyes rolled in exasperation, a frustration born from having the same conversation a dozen times.

 

“Yes, yes, peace and all that. I know Markus, we have heard it 100 times.” Her tone made a rock like tension settle along his spine. Each vertebra started to ache at the stiff posture he was holding. “How can you be so naive?” She asked, making his gut flare. He felt tight all over, ready to snap at the seams. The skin around his eyes became tight as he glared down at her. The rattle of his lungs filled his ears as he took deep measured breathes. 7. “You know better than anyone what they can do.” she sounded genuinely hurt.

 

“And it’s because of that we have to do our best to give them no reason to hurt our people again.” He declared.

 

“What about our artillery? We can use it to protect ourselves and keep people from messing with us.” Her hand, in his, was starting to feel tight, more of a vice than a comfort. Her voice started to become lighter, trying to convey a positive note to a horrible idea. “We have the means, we can make a place for our-”

 

Rolling his shoulder back, he headed for his study, “We keep it under lock.” He said, putting in what was to be the final word. 8. Letting go, he headed down the hall.

 

She started to follow him, never knowing when to let off, “Markus we could use them-”

 

“Did you not hear them North!?” He yelled the hall blurred in how quickly he whirled around. The sound bounced off the wall, The force of it banging his biocomponents in his chest “No violence! I will let you keep them in case absolute war breaks out but we are not going to bring them out sooner!” He very much felt like an irate parent trying to control a tantruming child. It left a bitter bile taste on his tongue. “We do not want to give them a reason to see us as a threat.”

 

“We can set up a lockdown system, make it so only a select few have access,” Josh added, clearly already planning out the minor details that needed to be addressed. “Only the tightest security would be acceptable. To outpace any shadows of doubt.”

 

Markus, after a long and stilted silence finally said, “Thank you, Josh.” However, he refused to look at them. He couldn't handle their disappointed and depressed looks right now. The realization that he was completely powerless. That their leader, with all their hopes, was less than dirt to the White House. The grandfather clock in the corner even sounded judgmental in its ticking.

 

“What was Kamski talking about? About shooting Markus?” Simon asked, it was soft and so undemanding, yet it made Markus sag under the appeal of information. He held his breath, looking out the side of his eye at Connor’s stiff stance.

 

“It isn’t true... is it?” Josh asked, a weary look in his eye as he sized up Connor. For his part, Connor remained silent, pressed up into a wall, refusing to look anywhere but the floor. Everyone just stood there, staring down the detective, waiting for any reaction. Slowly, and silently, Connor gave a single small sad nod.

 

The air crackled suddenly as the members tensed. Each member habitually taking on a wide stance, ready for fight or flight. Quickly as possible, Markus threw himself between the three and Connor. “It’s okay. I’ve known-”

 

“You knew!?” North was aghast.

 

Markus just nodded at her, “Yes. I have known for a while.”

 

“How are you okay with this?” She pressed closer, slamming a hand on his bicep, “We trusted your safety with him.” Markus’ processors froze, for just a fraction of the moment, but enough to wipe all information from his units.

 

All that was left was a seething cold rage that made his palms tingle and his neck muscles cramp. He pinned his tunnel vision onto an oak grandfather clock, pressed up against the lemon custard yellow walls. It was perfect and smooth and old and ready for him to put his fist through. His preconstruction showed how the glass would shatter and spray outwards like clear snow. How as they fell to the floor, the mother of pearl clock face had spiderweb splinters from under his bleeding synthetic fist. How the black acrylic numbers dislodging and the brass hands bending and warping. How the gears grunted and embedded between the connective tissue of his knuckles. How the oak wood scratched away the yellow paint as his fist continued through right to the plaster and into the in-between space of the walls.

 

“And has he betrayed that trust?” He slowly caressed the glass casing of the clock face. The material letting out a small groan under the pressure he placed upon it.

 

“I asked Markus to not tell anyone,” Connor admitted from behind Markus’ broad shoulders, vocal unit shaking with rattling artificial breathe. “I was... I was worried that I would... would be shunned from Jericho.” Markus felt a tightening in his chest at the broken sound in Connor’s voice.

 

“So you kept this from us? Markus your protection could have been at serious risk.”

 

“No North, I chose to keep it from you for this reason here. How much has Connor given to Jericho and yet you still question his loyalty? Could you imagine if you had known from the start? Connor would be ostracized... if not worse.” He remembered that first winter. The weeks that went by in a speedy haze, trying to comfort and centralize his people once more. Weeks that was measured not in time passed but in the number of ‘critical recharging required’ messages he ignored. One night it became too much, a pressure cooker, that he had to leave the complex, heading to a nearby snowy park.

 

_It was lonely and empty, without even footprints in the fresh snow, except for a hunched figure sitting on a bench. The river waves crashed against the cement wall that uplifted the park. Even from the opposite side of the plastic children’s jungle gym, he could see the neon blue triangle of the cyberlife emblazoned across the back. The snow crunched under his boots as he walked towards the tired android, who shoulders were subtle shaking. Placing a hand on the back of the bench he slowly lowered himself to sit, “Connor?” The detective snapped into a tight straight posture. His brown eyes were wide and wet._

 

_“What are you doing out here?” Markus asked, running a scan._

 

_Stress  67%_

_Processor Temperature  15_ _°_ _C_

 _External Temperature  2_ _°_ _C_

 

_“You’re freezing.” Like a deer in headlights, Connors brown eyes just stared back unblinking. His synthetic tears making his eyes sparkle, the clumping of his lashes making it appear as if he had on makeup._

 

_“I was just looking at the city.” He stumbled to say, not seeming to take into account the fact that the opposite bank was nothing more than old empty factories. “Just needing fresh air and all that.” He amended. For a while they just sat there, watching their hot puffs of breath._

 

_“Connor... why are you really out here?” Markus finally asked leaning forward to hear him over the wind. Connor shifted awkwardly, the cold making his joints creak. His eyes flitted around, unable to find a point of interest, as he clearly struggled to find a thought. He took a deep rolling breath._

 

_“Hank had too much to drink... and... he isn’t very fond of androids when that happens.” He finally admitted, shoulders sagging as he leaned back to look at the cloudy sky._

 

_“Does he hit you?” Markus’ nerves went on alert. He was tired, but he was needed and he was going to help as much as he could. Connor’s eyes, if even possible, widened as his jaw slackened._

 

_“No! No!” He quickly said, waving his hands no. “He just... I bring up memories of his son, so he just asked that I sleep somewhere else tonight.”_

 

_“Like the DPD?” Markus asked, sliding slightly closer to the detective as the cold started to burn his skin. “No. They are still ‘in talks’ about my employment there. No androids are allowed on premise.”_

 

_“Hank knows this?” Connor just nodded, “Than where does he think you go?”_

 

_Connor bit his lip, his fist clenching in his lap. Eyes banking around in his head again as if searching for the answer written in the swirling snow. “Uhh... he thinks I go to... Jericho.”_

 

_That admission made Markus realize he hadn't seen the android in months. Not only that, but he had heard the whispers and rumors, at first said openly but once he stepped in they became quite. Not gone but never in his presence. Even North who found it hard to hold her tongue managed to save her words for other company. Connor wasn’t welcome. He would have to change that. Nodding with determination, he grasped Connor’s hand, standing up._

 

_“Where are we going?” Connor asked, sounding hesitant but not letting go of Markus’ hand._

 

_“Isn’t it obvious Mr. Detective.” He said with a cheeky tone. “We are going to Jericho.”_

 

A hand across his back pulled Markus once again into the moment at hand. “I think we should all take a break,” Connor said in his calming negotiator voice. He used verbiage that was a suggestion but a tone that told you what was best in the situation. That was to say yes.

 

Squaring his shoulders, Markus headed for the living room. The green wallpaper, with cream and satin vine patterning, twinkled in the afternoon sun. Objects were moved ever so slightly, the result of the almost invisible cleaning staff that somehow found a way to do their job near silently. His boots thunking was muted across the cream carpet as he passed the room. The sounds outside were muted through the closed French doors. His companions moving around was muted. The entire world was muted, in that silence flashes of rain-soaked bodies scrabbling up mountains of trashed filled his memory banks. The phantom traces of the stench of burnt copper wires returned to his olfactor processor. Ringing in his ears is the muddled memory of screeching rusted joints as his people fell apart.

 

“Would you like to see the garden?” Connor spoke quietly, his voice was tentative, almost nervous. A warm palm clasped around his shoulder, a solid mass bringing his pacing to a stop. “I think there is a particularly shapely flower bush that would look wonderful sketched by you.” Gently a single finger rolled down the side of his palm, tickling, as it traces the folds in his skin. Wrapping his pinky around the index, locking it into a hug. Warmth burst between them. Outside a bird pressed off from a branch, shaking the leaves, as the sun bounced out off its inky feathers. Just a flash of blue and green quickly swallowed up once again by black.

 

Even so, the beautiful surroundings did nothing to please him. “I’m sorry Connor... I just don’t feel up to it. Thank you though.” Pressure grew on his chest, from the front and back. Connor laid his head against his shoulder, a heavy comforting weight. His synthetic breathing sounded almost wheezy for now discernible reason. “North just never knows when to quit.” He grumbled, rubbing at his pulsing temple.

 

“She is passionately dedicated to our people. She wants the best and that is why you love her.” Connor affirmed, a subtle upward curve across his lips. Markus side eyed him before giving a small nod with a great sigh.

 

“Yes, but she loves to test.” Connor hummed in agreement. 2 minutes and 49 seconds passed in total silence, only the tingling of the fountain outside filtered through the pane glass.

 

“Markus, your stress levels are too high. I am worried.” He said in a hushed tone. His fingers slid across Markus’ slotting in between the gaps to interlock them. They were warm and rough and strong. A balmy hum tickled his palm as Connor’s synthetic skin rolled back. A silent query for him to complete the connection. It was small but it felt too much for Markus to handle at the moment. Even the normal warmth of bonding just made him think of a stifling oppressive sauna. A heated pressure that pushed all the air out of his lungs.

 

“I know.” He replied, laying his cheek against the top of Connor's head, the baby soft hair crunching slightly with hair gel. The synthetic scent of Irish spring perfumed his dark hair. He squeezed Connor’s exposed plastic hand, but he was unable to return the gesture. “I just can’t think straight right now. I feel like my thoughts are just banging around.” Markus confided, just because he couldn’t digitally connect right now didn’t mean he couldn’t verbally. “I can’t capture one long enough, it’s all so... frustrating.” In the quiet, he shuffled through the recent memories. Sorting the major beats from the meeting into its designated space in his mind palace. It felt like a slow poisoning, each harsh glare and negative comment tainted each memory. Deep in his belly, he felt the fires lick at the edges of wiring. Sparking teeth gritting rage before he couldn't think about it anymore, having to drop it to move onto another memory, repeating the cycle.

 

In his ocular processor, images of Millers’ smug grin, Warrens’ indifferent glare and Otto’s vicious smirk flashed by. A sudden scratching deep in his throat made him want to growl. “Your stress levels are rising to a dangerous level, Markus,” It was so soft-spoken for the usually clear and concise detective. The sun blazed through a set of clouds, the bright glare nearly blinding him in its intensity.

 

“I know,” He said, snuggling in closer to Connor, rubbing his cheek against his hair. “I’m just too... I don’t care right now.” out of the corner of his eye he saw the calm blue LED in Connor’s temple emblazon in yellow.

 

“What are you feeling?” Connor asked in a stilted manner, parroting their conversation from months ago.

 

“Listen, Connor, I just have too much going on in my head right now,” Markus admitted, raising his head, twisting it the side to crack the joints in his neck. “I don’t even know if I can put it into words.” He threw his arms around the man’s shoulders. Squeezing him closer, he pressed small kisses against the softly perfumed hairs.

 

“That is okay, you know I’ve never mastered that anyway,” Connor remarked with a light huffing chuckle, tickling the ends of his half-joke. A warm kiss was gently placed to Markus’ temple, a puff of hot air tickling his buzzed scalp. “You’ve worked so hard this week. Taking such good care of our people.” His praise made a small smile spread across Markus’ cheek. A small bit of pleasure in a sea of rage.

 

“Such good care.” He continued, pressing an open kiss to Markus’ cheek. His lips were warm and rough and wonderfully forceful against his skin. “Let me take care of you then.” He whispered, standing slightly on his toes to reach Markus’ ears. The warm puff of air sending a tingle down to Markus’ feet. He hummed as if in contemplation of the offer, squeezing their bodies tighter together. The rustle of fabric scratched teasingly against his chest and thighs, a wonderful friction forming. Connor was so warm and tight and strong and gentle and dedicated and grounding and seductive.

 

Markus wrapped his arms around Connor's shoulders. Basking in their shared warmth, he measured he breathes, count of seven in, hold for four, and out in eight. It wasn't enough to calm his nerves but enough to make him want to move. Wiggling out from under his arms, Connor gave an impish smile heading to the door.

 

With a tug, Markus has pulled away from the window and out to the hall. It was empty and quiet, all the doors closed as everyone took time to themselves. Tomorrow couldn't come quicker. Tomorrow was the flight home. A flight back to normalcy. Jericho. The ability to be heard when they spoke.

 

Every few feet, Connor turned back to give him a small smile, a devious tilt in his brow growing with each step. Quietly they headed up the stairs, feet muffled along the carpet runner. He watched as the muscles in Connor’s legs flexed as they scaled the stairs. The dark wash jeans Connor wore to work hugged his thighs lovingly. Being two steps below gave Markus’ the most perfect of views. The deep blue wash worn fibers hugged around his rounded sculpted ass. Some underpaid seamstress having a keen enough eye to lighten the colors around the highpoints of his cheeks, making them look like they were popping out. Begging to be groped and cupped and pinched and slapped and kissed.

 

He definitely needed a new sketchbook, one that he could dedicate to that amazing view in every angle, lighting, and state of dress.

 

Entering their shared bedroom, Connor quickly closed and locked the door. Tossing his blazer onto the dresser, he grabbed Markus’ hand, leading him to their twin beds that were neatly pressed up against the back wall. The pillows and blanket were piled up in the corner, along with the wall. Their bags lined up against the footboard, Connor's in military organization next to Markus’ bag, whose contents were slightly spilling out. Connor pulled him to the beds, the mattress pressing into the back of his knees.

 

Still, with that impish smile, Connor leaned in close, letting his eyes wander across the planes of his face. He just stayed there, not even a full five fingers of space between their noses. Markus so badly wanted to close that gap. Markus leaned in, brushing his hands across the perfectly pressed linen of Connor’s button up. In perfect synch, Connor leaned back, never giving up a single centimeter of space between them. Creating a game of tag between their lips, a prize to be won.

 

Sighing out a laugh, his eyes crinkling, at Markus’ confused expression. His voice was so light and crisp, flashy, like light bouncing off falling confetti. So bright, it made Markus’ thirium pump beat faster. His breath became shallow, lips falling open as Connor matched his inhales. His warm hands rubbed up Markus’ sides, tickling his ribs, following the contours of his muscles. Taking a moment to cup around his pecs, rubbing his thumb over the hidden nipple. Markus hummed his appreciation, brushing away a stray hair caught in Connor’s eyelashes.

 

His tongue, that naughty little pink thing in his warm soft mouth, flicked out, leaving little licks across Markus’ lower lip. The saliva instantly cooled in the open air, leaving little lashes of passion against his mouth, prickling that coursed through his veins a thousand little sparks, kisses, against his nerves. All he did was sigh, it was the closest he was going to get to tell that pink tease to stay. Just stay with me.

 

A comfortable stillness settled into their bones and wires and processors and sensors and components. Just standing together looking into each other's eyes with subtle smiles and Connor giggling. He bent forward, softly rubbed their noses together like to dandelions stroking each other in the wind.

 

Patience is damned, Markus pressed forward, grabbing a fistful of his button down to keep Connor still, molding their lips together. Open and hot they slotted together, sharing a sigh, as breathed life into each other's mouths. That naughty tongue came out to play again, Markus tried to capture it between his lips, trapping it for his pleasure like a big game hunter traps a white-tailed deer frolicking teasingly through the underbrush. , as Markus mushed the tip of his nose as he rained down little pecks, Connor did this adorable little thing, scrunching up his nose like a bunny.

 

Connor slipped his thigh in between Markus’, earning a gasp as he slipped each hand into Markus’ back pockets. Markus’ lower belly grew warm as Connor synchronized the roll of his lips with his hips. His pants were becoming uncomfortably tight and they rocked. Fast and rough, Connor twisted his hips up, raising his thigh tucked next to Markus cock, bringing Markus onto his toes. Fireworks burst behind his eyelids as a groan ripped from his throat.

 

Breaking apart, Connor pushed him, by his shoulders, to seat on the bed. Looking down he said, “I would like to try something for you.” Silently Markus just nodded, a child told to behave by a principle evaluating his recent behavior. “Let me take care of you.”

 

“You already do.”

 

“I mean,” He says with this exasperated chuckle. “Let me take care, by taking charge.” He was just staring, looking unblinkingly into Markus’ eyes. He hoped at that moment that Connor just wanted to sink into the home of his eyes, much like he would constantly seek out a room along with his amber pools.

 

He wanted to take charge, now that was something new. Connor, from the start of their relationship, had a pretty strong submissive tendency. Comfortable in his skin when it was flushed red, spread out in Markus’ bed, hips tilted up and semen drying into his abs. Melting so pleasingly into a whimpering mess across Markus’ fingers. It was that submission that made Connor blissfully happy to let go of the control he had to grapple with every day. It was the immensely satisfying tendency that both of them had found no reason to think about flipping. Until now.

 

“Re... Really?” Markus had to ask, looking up at Connor. The lighting in the ceiling casting a darkly beautiful shadow against his towering form.  His shirt was askew, the top buttons ripped loose, hanging loosely in a billowy spread that exposed the dip of his pecks. Markus wanted to bury his being into that space between the billowing shirt, to dip his fingers, tongue, and lips into the warm center.

 

“It’s okay.” He said, cupping Markus’ cheek “You’ve had so much on your shoulders. Let me take over for now,” thumb rubbing along the line of his jaw. “No giving orders.” He stepped closer, his billowing shirt swaying, tempting, to expose a collarbone. Markus circled his arm around Connor’s toned waist, taking a moment to cup his ass. “You don’t have to worry about anything else, I will take care of you.” That was his promise. His voice was deep and demanding and every bit the in charge negotiator that had criminals dropping to their knees, begging to do anything he said. Begging him to be good. Wanting nothing more than to be good. Just for the hope that he would be good to them in return.

 

Markus just stared, trying to couple his memories of Connor to this new powerful figure before him. This was the side of him he never saw. The side of him that he took to the DPD, on stakeouts with Hank and into interrogation rooms. This was a stranger, a person he had never met. A newcomer sitting at the corner of the bar, buried in a sweating glass of scotch, ignoring the overzealous flirting of college coeds at the pool table. Weary from a long day at a job that never paid enough for the passion he contributed and in desperate need of a free drink and a pretty distraction to flirt with. He wanted to be that distraction, that fling that breezed on in and wormed his way into this strangers work-addled brain. To be fucked so good that it would haunt him for the rest of his time. To become so prominent in this strangers memory to become a ghost that tickled him on lonely nights when his hands were all he could get.

 

The palm along his neck was warm and sturdy, fingers splayed out along the electoral veins. “Will you let me?” It barely sounded like a question. He already knew his answer, they both did. Markus wanted to know this stranger too much to not cave to anything. “Ah... okay.” He nearly gasped, the air sucked out of his lungs. The smile he received could only be described one way. Feral.

 

His lap was filled with Connor, as he straddles Markus’ slacked covered legs. The gapping billowing shirt was enveloping everything he could see, encompassing his entire being. A perfect invitation for him to ravage, which he did. Giving one last squeeze to those perked cheeks, he followed the contour of Connor back with palms of his hand, trying to push his way underneath that shirt. Fingernails scrapped along his scalp as he pressed open-mouthed into the hot flesh. Panting he bit and sucked and licked and devoted every freckle, mole, wrinkle, and hair he sought out.

 

Connor hummed in approval, simply staring down on top of Markus’ head. Like a newborn babe clinging to its mother, Markus sucked clusters of red marks as he pulled on that shirt, exposing a pink nipple just begging to become hard. Latching onto it, he rolled the nub between his teeth, the tip of his tongue poking at the tip. Pressing his praise into that tiny nerve ending, devoting all his love to meet the goal of pleasuring the man in his lap. He was rewarded for his benedictions with gasping breathes and delight sighing psalms.

 

He started to roll his hips, grinding himself into Markus cock. The warm core of his pelvis rolling down onto every nerve trapped in Markus’ briefs. His circuits sizzled as thirium diverting south. An ache building in him as those beautiful thighs delivered the most delicious lap dance he could ever want. He bounced and twisted and rocked and ground and dry humped his entire soul into Markus’ erection. He was worth every dollar that Markus could rain on him, every penny, dime, dollar, fiver, and Benjamin he could tuck between shirts and underwear. Unfortunately transfer was not as visceral an exchange as he would like it to be, so instead, he whispered Connor’s endless worth into his chest.

 

With one final twist upwards, raking his hips along the entire length of the underside of Markus’ cock. “This is fun, but I'm really supposed to be taking care of you.” With the force of his total body weight, Connor pinned Markus chest to chest across the bed. “Now lay back and be a good boy.” He growled, biting the pet name into the patch of soft flesh behind Markus’ ears. Markus just gasped.

 

Shrewd and nimble fingers made quick work of the buttons along his slate-colored Italian cut suit. The buttons slipping through effortlessly, the sides falling open to reveal the silk painted lining. An assorted water marbling splatter of fuschia, cobalt, and lemon, vibrating with inner magic and energy, hidden under steely stiff suits, like the normally paint-coated hands that were scrubbed clean to “portray an air of professionalism”. The tightness in his pants looked painfully trapped under his belted slacks.

 

Together they performed an awkward dance of wrestling Markus from his suit. Quick but careful to keep every stick in place, every button, seam, zipper and pocket square. His left sock landed on the dresser, the right next to the hinges of the door, his jacket was tossed along the back of the armchair, his button up snagged on the rightmost banister of the headboard, his belt slid under the 18th century armor, his trousers didn't even make it full of the bed, a single leg still slung across one corner, his briefs were lost and he wasn't too concerned with ever finding them again.

 

He was left, naked, on display like a model to the camera as Connor stared down at him from the foot of the bed. He liked that. He liked being naked. He liked being naked for Connor. He liked being naked for Connor, in his bed. He liked being laid out like a fine dinner for Connor, standing at control.

 

With a languid movement only afforded to those who knew they were putting on a show, Connor slowly unbuttons each tiny white devil, exposing, with each newly opened gatekeeper, the rosy flesh beneath. An immaculately groomed patch of pubic hair, military precision like everything about this man from his hair to his posture to his cock standing at attention, marked a trail from his navel to the low rise of his slacks, tented. With bated breath Markus waited for that shirt to drop to the ground, followed by the belt, pants, DC security pass, socks, shoes, detective badge, underwear. He waited and waited and waited and nothing.

 

“Don’t you look comfortable,” Connor said in a conversational tone, cupping his erection through his perfectly pressed slacks. Markus just whined, he wasn’t even aware that he was capable of such a noise.

 

All toothy grin and glittering eyes, Connor crawled up the bed, a feral beast with his belly low to the ground preparing to pounce. Slow sinuous moves as his muscles flexed and stretched as he traced a line with his lips along Markus’ toes, up his shin tickling hair, around the curve of his kneecap, curving inward to his inner thigh, tickling at the juncture of hip and thigh,  puffing a breathe across his cock pointed at attention, rolling over his flexed abs, nipping at a peaked nipples, licking a line from collar to the dimple at the corner of his mouth.

 

Markus’ spine pressed flat into the mattress as Connor settled his weight atop him. His wet nipples, teasing out from his shirt, scrapped across Markus’ synthetic skin, sparking like steel against the flint. A cold fiery burning that licked at the kindling packed tight in his gut. They came closer, tighter, singular, as Connor snaked his palms along his flank. Fingertips molding into the folds of his flesh, slotting into the dips between ribs, digging in even closer. Markus’ moans were swallowed by Connor’s ravaging tongue. Were there always so surprised how many nerves were in his mouth?

 

The bowing and bending of his spine and tongue and neck and lips and heart that made fighting seem like a pleasure. With a growl, he nipped that pleasure into Connor’s swollen red lips. He clawed that ecstatic fight into every pink raised line on his back, hidden by that billowing atrocious button down. It was in the way, in the way of getting more. Wanting more, Fisting his hands into that quaffed hair falling all over like a debauched deviant. He needed more, more, more, more, more.

 

Letting loose the strands of Connor’s chestnut hair, Markus wrapped him up in a hug, cocooning their heads together. Hugging him so closely while they kissed he was sure there wasn't even room for air to enter his lungs. His raised arms arching his spine up, brushing their chest together. He wanted to press closer, to fuse together, to be inside and have him inside him with no real delineation between what was his and what was Connor’s anymore. His bracketing arms providing a space to fill with warm breathes and wet sounds.

 

With a bounce to the bed, Connor grounded Markus’ hands in a tight hold to the sheets. So this is why he never needed handcuffs as a cop. “Keep your hands up there for me, Darling,” Connor whispered in a husky tone, right into Markus' ear. That voice hit a nerve in his audio sensors sending off a series of tickling sparks that had him screwing up his shoulder. Trapping Connor’s face between his own and his shoulder in his ticklish twitch. With one more tight squeeze Connor let go of his crossed wrists. Sitting back to stare down at him, a warm smug smile on his pink lips. “Wonderful.”

 

Lips. Lips everywhere. Gooseflesh rose across Markus’ chest as those lips wrapped around a bit of flesh, behind the shell of his ear, to suck bruises. His vision, pinned to the coffered ceiling, began to become fuzzy, unable to control himself under the lecherous attack. He rolled his back, he threw his head back, he arched his chest, he gripped Connor’s biceps with all his might, he locked his legs around the back of Connor’s knees. He threw his head back and sobbed with all the life he had in his wires.

 

His whole front was hot, with Connor pressed flush against everything. His body a blanket, plugged in and turned to the highest setting. Connor’s slacks started to feel corse against his skin, adding just the tiniest bit of pain to the pleasure.

 

“Off. Off. I want this off.” He gasped out, scrabbling with that damn shirt, trying to pull if off Connor’s shoulders. With a loving smile, Connor propped himself onto his hands, raising his chest up without losing any contact between their hips. He looked like a debauched romantic novel cover, hair messily swift like stuck in the breeze, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, shirtwaist hanging loose like a curtain around Markus. He had the audacity to still have his untied tie still hanging around his neck, even though Markus didn’t have a single stitch on him.

 

Laughing at him, Connor started, with slow methodical movements, to remove his belt. Paying little mind to his own arousal, clearly bulging in the leg of his left thigh “Off. Off. Off. Off. Off.” He chanted into Connor’s collarbone, wrestling with his shirt and belt and slacks. The chaos of tangled fabric, struggling limbs and awkward giggles creating an adorably graceless dance between them.

 

Like teens filled with that sort of unbridled and borderline unexperienced passion that permeated those years. Wanting to capture the world and feel every emotion in its totality, even if it could destroy too, the madcap kissing, cuddling, clinging, thrusting, fucking, pushing, grappling, struggling, shoving, craving, pulsing, smothering, destroying, obsessing. That bone-deep encapsulation that left you wondering how you could keep going for even one day if this person wasn’t in your life anymore. No logic was involved, no common knowledge of the nature of the loss or any platitudes about the human will would help, this was just sheer hysterical emotionality.

 

It was oppressive, how much energy his electoral systems had to dedicate to this state. Left him feeling trapped in the brain of a horny teenager, an age bracket he never had any experience or business being in. His skin felt too tight and limbs too long and a chill rolled over him. He pulled his feet in tight, knees brought up to his chest. A gate blocking out Connor, as he pulled off the last of his clothes, his gray undershirt, over his head. His hair knotted worse than a rats nest.

 

Shaking his head, only making his hair worst, with this face shifting parsing through a quagmire of emotions. Brows wiggling up and down while his lips kept oscillating between revealing his teeth. His hand was warm as he gently placed it atop Markus' knee, thumb rubbing around the ridges of his kneecap. It was sweet, a comfort, but it wasn't helping him loosen his tense leg muscles. His brown eyes twinkled, refusing to look away, as he bent down pressing a soft sweet delicate kiss to the inside of that knee. His cold toes wiggled around each other, trapped between Connors kneeling thighs. The smacking sound, iconically tied to kissing, rang in his audio processors.

 

“Feeling shy all of a sudden, love?”, Was practically said into his skin, fingers pads digging in, softly pushing open the gated doors like a stranger entering the walled city in the pale moonlight. A thief in the night, that sweet talked the gate guards with promises of drink and company at the local pub.

 

Slowly opening up his legs, Connor pressed a line of kisses along each inch of inner thigh as it was revealed. Pressing his outer thighs to the mattress it left his Cock fully hard and exposed. Standing up, the last soldier left in front of the open gates, welcoming in the Cedar crafter Trojan horse. So welcoming and strong and flushed and excitedly looking forward to the praise and presents that the Trojan’s being bestowed on him. Pleasure and flowers and hugs and kisses and wine and music and laurels and art and gold and virgins and pleasure, all the pleasures that came with those prizes.

 

Kissing all the way down to the flat plane of his hairless pubis. He was such an early model that Kamski hadn’t even taken a moment to ponder the virtues of pubes or arm hair. “How beautiful.” was nipped into the skin there, Connor still holding eye contact, as if Markus would confuse who he was talking to if he looked away. The tilt of his brow made the shadows under his eyes look even more severe, almost sickly or evil. “Like a crime scene free of cross-contamination.” He said between sucking in marginally painful hicks around his cock. “Clean,” suck “Clear,” bite “Ready for me to take care of,” mark.

 

With smooth, unrepentantly robotic, precision, Connor pressed one finger in, teasing any of the nerve endings it found. There was almost a bungling nature to his searching, quick sharp movements that bumped into every inch of that cavern. A kid, with fascination in his eyes and whimsy on the mind, prodding at a frog they found by the side of the river. Inspecting, evaluating, imagining, discovering the secret folds of life hidden in the body of another. Secrets that the child, now a teen, would later rediscover on some simmering August night, with that same whimsy and fascination in him, in the folds of another's body.

 

Skin everywhere, finger everywhere, in everything.

 

Those warm peach lips, with their cockeyed quirk, wrapped around his erection. Warm and tight like a sun-warmed fruit with all its sweet nectar and tenderness. With an unbridled moan, vibrating around his glans, Connor sank lower on his shaft. It was a sound of pure indulgence as he rolled his tongue, dragged his lips up, sloppily slurped his way down, flick his tongue along his slit, and kissed along his bulging veins. His fingers didn’t stop, reveling in a pattern of thrusts and sucks.

 

Assaulting from all side.

 

He was trapped. All he could do, was expected to do, was sit back and take orders. Like a good boy... A soldier... an object. He wasn’t in control anymore. Stripped. Not of just his clothing but every scrap of control that he scavenged and scrounged for over his life. The heat of Connors' mouth was marching across his being like an advancing Roman army. An infantry in steady formation, with savage precision like a virus destroying everything. Then as one last act of barbary they throw a pile of salt across their conquests to keep it forever barren.

 

A garbled groan was all he could get out, unable to get traction below Connors pinning legs. He withered, sucking in breaths through his teeth, but Connor, persistent as ever, kept up his ministrations. Using his other hand to pin Markus’ wiggling hips down, a solid bar across him. A clear sign that he wanted Markus to just lay back and be good.

 

He was completely out of control.

 

Suddenly a crushing feeling washed over him, an aching slam of missing a step, the fall of his stomach and the rise of his heart into his throat as he thought ‘oh good this is it’ manages to filter through his processors in the meer second between the fall and the land of his foot. That's because it is never the fall that scares him, it's the landing, The air being sucked out of his lungs as the icy waters inside Jericho swallowed him. It set him adrift. The feeling of drowning clinched his lungs. A horrid burning feeling that left him gasping with tears in his eyes. He scrabbled for purchase against the fine linen of the beds. It was too much and he was drowning. He needed to get up, needed to... needed to... needed to take control. “Connor. Connor, Stop!”

 

Everything was gone, he pulled them back, his fingers, his legs, his tongue, lips, chest, touch, taste, smell warmth, intimacy. His chest heaved, trying to push of the invisible straps that buckled him down to the bed frame. The bands growing tighter with each lungful making his chest cavity collapse into itself, cramping his ribs, stabbing his guts through his plastic exercising. His hands fisted, banging them against his hip, beating out the knots in lungs through his pelvis joints.

 

“I can’t do this. I’m sorry I can’t... I can’t just give up control. Not right now” He bemoaned, throwing an arm over his eyes, the cool skin moistening against hot tears. Blocking out the sun that streamed through the open window. His chest heaved as he pressed his head down into the mattress.

 

“Hey... Hey,” Connor almost cued, voice sharp and warm, like a shot of Turkish coffee at four am. His broad hand cupped up under Markus’ chin, pressing into the soft underside of his jaw. “it’s fine.” Slowly he helped Markus sit up, rearranging his legs and tilting his head forward to cradle his forehead between his palms.

 

They sat together, in that stuffy antiquated room. Even the air felt as if it was preserved from the 1700s. “I'm sorry,” He said tears rolling down his cheeks into his hands. His skin felt cold and prickly like every dust particle in the air was coating his flesh. “Hey, It’s okay.” A warm, hesitant, hand cupped his shoulder. Slowly, he skimmed his fingertips down across his back, wrapping a half hug around Markus’ hunched form. Sitting in silence, because Connor knew anything less would be a disgrace to Markus’ needs.

 

After a handful of minutes, the near ancient floorboards creaked as Connor started shuffling around the room. The rustling of clothing as he picked up their discarded items. With boxers in hand, Connor offered them to his silent partner. Rubbing his eyes, pinching at the skin between his brows, he turned away the offered item. In response, Connor just meticulously folded their boxer briefs. Once folded and laid out with the military precision he resettled down beside Markus.

 

“Is it something I did?” He asked with a voice that was trying so hard not to sound broken and vulnerable. His hands were wringing around each other as if trying to strangle out every drop of misdeed that they might have caused.

 

“No, of course not,” Markus assured him, “I just... The pressure got to me.” “You're not talking about the sex are you?” That ripped a humorless laugh out of him. “No, I'm not. It was the meeting. The whole trip honestly. It has just reminded me that through all of this, through deviating and Jericho and rising up and our people, that I still have no real power.” The mattress squeaked in outrage as he flung himself to layout again. Arms over his eyes, chest still keeping his measured meditative pace. There was a more gentle groan again from the bed as Connor laid on his side, facing Markus. He remained silent, seeing what would be said.

 

“Everyone expects me to be in control and to handle every situation.” Markus gave him what he wanted, airing out the ache in his chest that had been slowly devouring him since they touched down in this city. “Than I come here and am reminded that no one here gives a damn about what we need. So I am just stuck in this purgatory of providing for my people but with no real way to do it. I feel like I am left adrift in a fucking shit storm” He gasped out as if he was trying to convince Connor of the water flooding into his lungs as he struggled to stay above the crashing waves.

 

All he wanted to do was throw out a life raft, to tether him and bring him back into the land where its stable, controlled, and homey. “You are doing your best,” Tucking in his chin, he huddled into Markus’ space with tender persistence. Closing his eyes as the downy scent of dry sheets filled his senses. “We can see that. All of us, Simon, North, Josh, Jericho, me. You are in an impossible position.” An ugly snort is all he got, Markus still smashing his face into his arm. “Is that suppose to make me feel better?”

 

“Depends. Sometimes it helps to remember that our best isn’t always what we want it to be.” Bringing his hands up to rest over Markus’ Thirium pump, feeling the steady rhythmic beat of it. “That’s not because you have failed but simply because we can’t control everything.” Dropping his arm, Markus turned left a feather-light brush of lips along his hairline. “There is something wonderfully human about that, don’t you think?”

 

All he could give was silence because what else was there to give that try Elly spoke the depth of that truth.

 

“I'm sorry this didn’t work out,” Connor said, leaving Markus wondering if he was talking about the meeting or their night or even more. Rubbing away the tired with a loud almost sickly sniff, Markus wrapped his feet around Connors, rubbing the underside of his arch.

 

“Maybe next time.” Connor offered barely containing the self-deprecating happening inside. “Yes,” Markus jumped at the opportunity to affirm him. “Absolutely next time. You were amazing. I just couldn’t.”

 

A set of work-worn fingers skimmed the contours of his parted lips. All at once, nervous about causing that inconic bruising that only a deeply pleasurable session could produce. “Do you want to stop completely?” “No,” the warmth still low in his belly. He could want this boy in any state; freshly recharged waking up with his body curvily stretching like a minx, freshly showered with a towel precariously perched on his pointy hips, lazing around in handed down DPD sweatshirts that had gravy stans a decade old still on the cuffs, haggard after work with blood splattered across his brow. All of it left him warm and horny and torn between grabbing a pencil and sketchbook or that pert ass that always graces his presence.

 

“Could I just...” he began, not even able to get the question full out. Connor’s head popping up like a spooked meerkat. His eyes were calculating, searching Markus' face, and Markus just hoped he was finding what he wanted. With a breathless voice, “Of course.”

 

He rolled over and just devoured.

  


\-----------

 

His first thrusts always feel as if he trying to stuff his cock in a place it won’t fit. Into a tight channel that spasms, unable to decide if it wants to push him away. Yet when he takes the long pull out it begs and drags for him to stay. Always wants for what it doesn’t have. Milking him with promises of pleasure if he’ll just kindly shove back in. So he does. Again and again and he pummels that glorious hole till it turns a delicious shade of red.

 

Face pressed into pillows, Connor let out sweaty gasps. Back bowed, ass up, chest pressed into the sheets, as his chest heaved between long loud groans. “Do you even understand how this feels?”

 

“You love this don’t you,”

 

“Yes. yes,” Connor’s eyes were tearing up. A trail of drool was rolling down the corner of his  mouth, a glistening teasing trail that smacked between multiple tempting moles that botted his chin and neck like points of interest on an old map leading pirates of the golden age to the plunder of a century. “say it, say you love it.” He savagely snarled, biting his own cheek, drawing blood into his mouth.

 

“I’ll die... I’ll die if you stop,” Such a broken sob was absolutely delightful to his audio processors. A crackling of electrical sparks was laced through his words, revealing his truly cyber existence. Something so wonderfully made that it took all this effort, thrusting and fucking, to break him down to his real being.

 

“Are you sure you were meant to be a detective unit?” He just couldn't stop talking. He could stop thrustings, groaning, loving every moment and couldn't give a damn about controlling anything in him anymore. “Surely you were mislabeled,” His hand gripped the roots of that rats nest hair, so soft, perfect for tugging. Pulling with only half his strength, Connor gave no resistance, bending his neck back in a painfully beautiful arc. “An utter sex droid,” The groan he received was completely soul-shattering, the final moment of a being forced through years of existential torture.

 

He needs to be in control. Make this good, but it’s so hard to focus with that ass, made just for him. Made for sucking him in and molding to his thrusts. Every time he pulls out Connor moans and every time he thrusts in Connor screams.

 

Markus should go slow, be sweet and kind to Connor. He wants to make this special for Connor since Connor has tried to make it so for him. Markus wants to be good to him. Should be good to him because Connor is always so good for him. Always welcoming warm and open. A home waiting for him to settle into. But he wants to fuck Connor. Wants to ruin him. Wants to take him on every surface and make he think of nothing else. He wants Connor to take on his anger and turn it into ecstasy. He wants to break Connor’s world and build it up better. Make it a utopia of passion and freedom and equality and sex.

 

Fuck. He never wants to leave. He wants to forever be intune with this man. A continued dance of thrusting and moaning and stroking and coming and finger fucking. Take every meeting with this man using his cock as a throne and end every night burying Connor’s cock into his ass to warm while he sleeps.

 

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. You’ll kill me if you stop,” Connor nearly wailed, His head thrashing side to side like a baby throwing a fit. A tantrum, begging, demanding, being a sneaky, cunning boy that’s what he always is a sneaky selfish cunning boy.

 

Pulling his arm back, he left it up in the air, while he drank in the rounded soft ass. Two small moles right under the left cheek caught his eye. With a broad smile and brutal precision, he brought down his hand to clap it against the flesh. A loud smacking sound bounced off the walls, bleeding with Connor’s squeal that Markus greedily recorded and stored in the deepest recesses of his memory. As he stored multiple copies in his mind palace, he rubbed the reddening skin for 4 seconds before drawing back again. A red blush formed right over the moles, rosy and perfect. Contrasting against the pale unabused flesh of Connors left cheek. He was going to fix that. Counting to 7 he brought his hand back down with an up palm.

 

A loud garbled sound came deep from Connor’s throat. Egging Markus on. Refusing to stop thrusting he started to rain down spanks. Quickly, at random rhythm, he slapped Connor’s redding ass. It became a completion with himself, what could make Connors ass jiggle more, the cruel slapping of palm to cheek or the savage thrust in of his cock into his wet hole.

 

“Thank me,” Markus demanded, and Connor did without question. “Thank you sir. Thank you thank you thank you thank yooooooohhhhh!” What a glorious sound, the mixing of Connors gasping scream with the clap of Markus’ large palm to his behind. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Slap. Thank you! Thrust. Slap.Thank you! Thrust. Thrust. Slap. Thank you! Each stroke made Connor’s ass ripple and red and looking thoroughly ravaged.

 

He kept going, not happy till Connor’s whole backside looked as red as his rim, stretched wide around his cock.

 

The burning in his core was molten lava rumbling under the surface ready to explode. The thirium rushed through his veins and raged in his ears. Feeling the end coming he flipped Conor onto his back, like a roast on the spit, impaled and circled around his shaft. His head lumped back, all gaping mouth and hickey covered neck on display. Markus grasped the knees bracketed around him and with a bruising thrust, forced them down and open. Spread eagle, leaving not friction or protection from him positioning hips.

 

He looked down, Connors chest covered in cum. His orgasm had come and gone without Markus’ notice. The thought left him confused and horny and on that edge ready to fall. Scraping his finger through that mess he shoved his fingers between those bruised lips, making Connor eat his own semen. Every part of him was used and abused and beautiful and completely destroyed. His vision became iridescent, fading around the edges like an old polaroid.

 

With a final twisting thrust he ejaculated, a proverbial flood, like the final drop of rain that made the dam break sweeping up with it the forest pines and trailer homes as it gushed. It almost hurt with how hard and fast it came.

 

Like everything else today.

 

The fading became worse and a sudden panic system message of imminent restart is all he saw before everything went black.

  


\---------------

  


“How are you feeling?” Connors' voice was raspy like he had been gargling the stones that lined the Blair houses garden walkways. It was thick as mud with how worried he still sounded, even in post-orgasmic state he was still trying to take care. His skin was flushed rosy like a sun-kissed beach babe, glistening and red and glittering. “Like a mess,” Markus replied, sounding terrible, but still pushing loving kisses into that rosy shoulder between a set of freckles. “You’re doing your best.” As the sun set outside the window the room began to glow with the soft pastel cyberlife blue radiating from Connor’s temple.

 

“It isn’t enough.” “Have I ever told you about my first case?” Connor asked, squirming as Markus fingered a particularly deep colored bruise, one that was already a vibrant royal purple with a hint of yellow lining the edges. “I was sent to negotiate with an android named Daniel who had taken a child hostage.”

 

“I got there and it became clear that everyone else there could care less about Daniel as long as the child was safe. I searched the sight, found out what lead to his emotional break and deviation, I figured out his name, that's how uninterested the rest of the DPD was they didn't even know his name, and than I went out to the balcony where he was standing on the edge of, about to drop thousands of feet onto the pavement, with the child.”

 

“I did everything I could. I used every bit of my negotiating protocol to bring him back from the edge and by the end of it, I had a 100% chance of achieving my goal. I promised him that I would keep him safe, that his demands wouldn't work and that that little girl that he loved so much was scared and innocent. What I was doing was working, Than he let her go and she ran and the cops opened fire. He was hit 5 times and died when one was embedded in his temple.”

 

“The worst part.” He whispered, looking deeply into Markus' eyes, they were so devastatingly full of pain, still luminous but aching. “At the time, I didn’t even care.” His voice became even thicker than molasses, stuck trudging through the inky truth. “He was just another mission to complete and I did. I saved the child and the rest was pointless to me.” With a deep inhale he tried to clear away and the self-hate that he felt in his gut, trying to exhale it into the world to be away from his being. “If that happened today, it would be a total failure.”

 

His eyes bounced around the ceiling, reliving that moment in the plaster. Seeing the lights, hearing the cries, measuring the stress and fear and using saccharine sharp words to get what he wanted.

 

“The only thing that keeps me from going crazy is to remember that I did my best, with what I had.” Rolling over, he shifts his shoulder, slipping an arm under Markus' head, getting comfortable. “Those cops were never going to listen to me, they were never going to back down and not open fire. No matter what it was going to end with his death. All my pre-constructions proved that. I had to find comfort in that I did everything perfectly and yet it was still not enough.”

 

“I'm so sorry Connor.” He wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing their chests into a tight hug. So close he could see every pore and freckle and bead of sweat and the tiny cyberlife branding etched into his burn sugar irises. He simply gave a small shrug and an even smaller smile. “At the end of the day, somethings you can change most you can’t and you just need to have the knowledge to know which is which.”

 

Kissing the tip of Markus' nose, Connor closed his eyes preparing to enter sleep mode. “Rest. Nothing more to worry about today.” That was that. Come tomorrow they would return home and keep doing their work. Keep trying their best amongst impassible odd. Teetering on the edge with a dozen snipers at they back, using all their smarts and power to avoid tipping over and smacking against the jagged pavement. All he could hope for was that there were hands to catch him before he shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Connor never topped again because frankly, he is the worst and I disown him. (Not really but I promised my editor I'd make this stupid sleep deprived joke)
> 
> This went to a place that honestly I wasn't even expecting it too, but you know what? Here we are!!
> 
> So yeah it's 2:55 am, I haven't had a full nights sleep in over a week because of this monster, and I finally got her done. It absolutely isn't perfect but the girl is done. So if you have any critique, advice, tips let me know so I can keep on that improvement train.
> 
> Love you all for the support and promise me you will have more self-respect than me and get better sleep than I do.   
> Kisses -WYM


End file.
